Abbie's Outlaw Page 6

  A smile curled on her lips. Maybe she’d ask John for his opinion. With a little luck, she’d annoy the daylights out of him and he’d keep away from her. The notion of a debate gave Abbie a rush of wicked pleasure. On behalf of women everywhere, she rather liked the idea of making the good Reverend mad.

  Chapter Five

  John heard the grandfather clock chime twelve times. Shivering in his bed, he didn’t know whether to welcome a few more hours of night or dread the dreams that would come if he slept. Three days had passed since he’d fought with Ed, and the fever had come at last. His bones ached, and every beat of his heart sent nails into his head. This morning the wound had been pink and hard to the touch. Now it throbbed with a burning itch that made him want to claw at the stitches.

  If Abbie knew, she’d say, “I told you so.”

  Doc Randall had been tending John’s wound, but he hadn’t come by this afternoon. Abbie had offered to change the bandage, but John said no. He liked the idea of her fingers touching his skin a little too much.

  Blowing out a breath, he draped his arm over his forehead. What had he been thinking when he’d given Mrs. Cunningham some time off? The older woman had wanted to visit her daughter. Seeing a chance to do some good, Abbie had volunteered to run the household in her absence. With Beth and Robbie in the house, he didn’t need to worry about appearances, so he’d agreed. Though if he’d known that Abbie and Beth were going to be baking apple pies, he would have said no. As things stood, he spent half the day with his mouth watering and the other half remembering Kansas.

  It’s not smart for a pretty girl like you to be alone out here.

  I can handle myself.

  But Abbie hadn’t been able to handle him. He’d taken full advantage of her twisted ankle. A gentleman would have taken an injured girl to town, but John had been road-weary and ready to hole up for a while. When she’d explained that her grandmother had died and she was going to her farm to sort through the old woman’s things, John had offered to lend a hand.

  Resting up on an apple farm had appealed to him, and so did the prospect of flirting with a pretty girl. She had charmed him the minute she threatened to shoot him. He’d always gone for women with spirit, and Abbie had more heart than anyone he’d ever known. John sighed in the dark as he remembered cleaning out her grandmother’s attic.

  Dust had covered them both, but Abbie hadn’t minded as she sorted through the trunks. From the last one she had lifted a satin gown that shimmered in the sun pressing through a high window. She had rubbed it against her cheek and he’d imagined her in it—and then out of it. He had fingered the silk and grinned.

  How about putting it on for me tonight?

  How about if you mind your manners?

  She should have slapped him, but instead she had teased him with a smile and finished going through the clothes. She had kept a few things for herself, and he’d wondered why she would want such rags.

  Lying in his bed, John closed his eyes and tried not to think about buying Abbie pretty dresses. Instead he dwelled on his own misery and realized he was thirsty. He reached for the pitcher of water only to discover it was empty. He’d have to pull on his pants and pump some in the kitchen.

  Groaning, he swung his legs off the mattress, reached for the trousers he’d tossed on a chair and pulled them up, leaving the top button undone so the waistband wouldn’t chafe the wound. Because he had houseguests, he put on the white shirt he’d worn yesterday and buttoned it halfway. Walking down the hall gave him a new sympathy for Doc Randall and his bad knees. Every step sent an ache through John’s bones, but he made it to the kitchen where moonlight was pouring through the window.

  After blowing out a breath to steady himself, he took a drink straight from the spigot and then moved the pitcher into place. As the stream of water hit the pewter, he heard a match strike. A lamp flared in the darkness.

  “John? Are you all right?”

  Abbie’s voice sounded as soft as the silk nightgown he’d just been remembering. It had taken a week of talk, but she’d put it on for him. It had clung to her curves and been warm to his touch. He didn’t dare look at her now. If she was dressed for bed, he didn’t want to know.

  “I’m all right,” he answered, still filling the pitcher. “I just needed some water.”

  “Let me do that.”

  She came up next to him and reached for the handle. As she worked the pump, her loose hair brushed her shoulders. Backlit by the lamp, it made him think of the embers left by a dying fire. He couldn’t stop his gaze from dipping downward. Mercifully, she was covered from head to toe with a robe. It had once been pink, but time had leached away the color and worn the garment to bare threads.

  Why was a congressman’s wife wearing rags? Even in private, it didn’t make sense. He wanted to ask her if she needed money, but it wasn’t any of his business. He also wanted to buy her the fancy wrapper he’d seen in the dressmaker’s window last week. It was emerald silk and embroidered with lotus flowers. It would match her eyes and shimmer on her skin. Hellfire! How did a man stop thinking such thoughts? Irritated, he focused on the stream of water filling the pitcher. When it was full, she set it on the counter.

  “That should do it,” she said. “Can you carry it?”

  Of course he could, but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor. This kitchen had always reminded him of the one in Kansas where she’d cracked eggs into a pan for his breakfast. He remembered watching her wipe down the counter with a dish towel, just as she was doing now. He hadn’t grown up with those feminine touches, and he’d been fascinated by her womanly ways. One thing had led to another, and he’d taken her to bed both in spite of her innocence and because of it.

  Knowing that some confessions were best made at night, John sought her eyes. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  Looking up, she said, “Is it about Susanna?”

  “No, it’s about us.” He put his hand on hers to stop her from wiping the counter. He wanted her full attention because he had no desire to repeat the conversation. “I want you to know I’m sorry for what happened in Kansas. I had no business taking advantage of you.”

  He waited for her an answer, but the silence thickened until it felt like humid air, almost visible and too heavy to breathe. If she had nothing more to say, neither did he, so he released her hand. “I won’t bring it up again. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. Good, he thought. He deserved a cold shoulder, but instead of calling him a cad, she gripped his elbow. “I’m not the least bit sorry. Do you want to know why?”

  The question sent a blast of fever through John’s veins. He knew the answer—he’d known since he’d read Abbie’s telegram. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”

  Abbie nodded slowly. “Very much so.”

  “Why did you imply otherwise at the train station?” he asked.

  “I needed to think things through. Besides, you’d made it clear that being a father wasn’t something you wanted.”

  He couldn’t deny the truth of her words. “Does Robbie know?”

  “Not yet. I’ll tell him everything after things are settled with Susanna. You’re going to love her, John. She’s smart and funny and full of mischief. She’s so much like you—”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  John hadn’t told a living soul about the curse that ran in his blood. He’d poured his guts out to the Almighty and felt the touch of grace, but not even Silas knew about the night John had left home for good. He sure as hell wasn’t going to burden Abbie with the truth of that day.

  John would never forget Isaac Leaf’s last words. Like father, like son. No kidding, he thought. Ugly inclinations still burned in his blood. Given a choice, he’d be drunk off his ass right now. He’d be at the saloon smoking cigars and playing poker. He’d be undressing Abbie with his eyes and taking her to bed.

  The fever ripped through him, causing his side to ache and
his head to pound. If he didn’t sit down, he’d fall over, so he pulled a chair out from the table and lowered himself into it. “This can’t be,” he managed to say.

  “But it is.” Looking determined, Abbie pulled out the chair next to his and sat down. Her eyes filled with a love that shamed him. “You’re great with Robbie. Won’t you give Susanna a chance?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I’m dirt. I’ve stolen, murdered and maimed. I’ve kicked dogs and stomped on ants. God forgive me, I’ve killed children…

  How could he explain that ugliness to Abbie? She may have lost her temper a time or two, but he doubted she had ever wanted to choke the air out of a man’s lungs. Nor did she have a string of enemies who wanted to see her suffer.

  John gave her his hardest stare, the one he saved for his blood-and-guts sermons about Old Testament battles and the sacrifice of the cross. “I don’t want her in my life, Abbie. I have my reasons.”

  The pity in her eyes said she was unimpressed. “What you want doesn’t matter. I can’t make you love Susanna, but I can make sure you don’t hurt her.”

  He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He would never hurt a child, especially not Abbie’s daughter. But someone else hadn’t been as careful with the girl’s feelings. John pushed back in his chair. “How did she find out about me?”

  A shadow fell across Abbie’s face. “Robert told her the night he died.”

  “What a godawful shock.” John flattened his palm on the kitchen table. “Tell me the rest.”

  “After he was elected to congress, Robert thought you’d try to blackmail him. He kept a file on you. That’s what he gave Susanna.”

  John’s heart plummeted down a rabbit hole of regret. Abbie’s marriage must have been a nightmare and he’d been the cause. “Did he know about the baby when you married him?”

  Abbie lowered her eyes. “Yes, but he didn’t know about you until later. It’s not important how he found out.”

  John knew a lie when he heard one. It was very important, otherwise Abbie wouldn’t have mentioned it. Later he’d ask for the details, but the night was already too raw so he focused on Susanna. “Why do you think Robert told her?”

  “Who knows?” Abbie said, shrugging. “He favored Robbie and she knew it. Maybe he wanted to clear his conscience, and the truth was all he had to give.”

  “Guilt is an ugly thing.”

  “I know.”

  Her whisper matched the murmur in John’s heart. For Abbie’s sake, he wished he had been a better man when they’d first met. Where would they be today if he had charmed her into marriage instead of his bed? He could have been a lawman if they’d moved far enough west. He could have started over. He wished that he had, but what was the point? It had taken six years of hell, prison and Silas Jones to bring him to his knees.

  John shifted his gaze to Abbie and saw that her eyes were shiny and tense. If she had been a member of his congregation, he would have told stories and shared a few secrets, indirectly telling her that even the worst problems could be solved. But with Abbie, talk had once led to touching, and touching had led to Susanna. Now that troubled girl was in Bitterroot, where Ben Gantry wanted to skin John alive.

  If he could have climbed into a cannon and shot himself back in time to the day he’d killed Gantry’s sons, John would have done it. He still wished he’d died that day. If he had, Susanna would be safe and Abbie wouldn’t be sitting in his kitchen, making him want things he couldn’t have. He wanted to go to the stream behind the parsonage where the rushing water would calm his thoughts, but he couldn’t leave Abbie. Taking a breath, he peered into her eyes. “I have regrets, too, and I don’t want any more. I’ll help you find your daughter, but that’s it. As soon as she gets here, the three of you are getting on a train for Washington. It’s best for everyone.”

  The glimmer in her eye told him he’d just started a fight he didn’t want to have. “What gives you the right to order me around? You said yourself you have an obligation. I expect you to meet it.”

  “And I will. I want to pay for her schooling, her shoes, whatever she needs.”

  Abbie pushed to her feet, turned her back on him and gazed out the window. The pane acted like a mirror, reflecting her sage-green eyes and determined chin as she weighed his offer. He suspected she found it sadly lacking, which it was. Needing a distraction, John took a cigarette out of his pocket and struck a match on the stove. Cupping the flame with his hand, he focused on puffing life into the tobacco. When it caught, he tipped back his head and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling.

  “Do you have to smoke that thing now?” Abbie said, fanning the air.

  It was his house, and he wasn’t in the mood to appease her. Almost hoping the smoke would chase her away, John watched a puff float in her direction. As soon as it reached her nose, Abbie hurried out the back door. John thought her reaction was overdramatic, but he supposed he owed her an apology for being rude. In spite of the pull of the stitches, he pushed to his feet, doused the cigarette butt in the sink and followed her to the porch. After sitting so close to the lamp, he couldn’t see. “Abbie?”

  “I’m over here.”

  He followed her voice to the side of the porch that faced Broken Heart Ridge. The crest had been aptly named for two mountains separated by a slash of a gully. Sometimes the full moon rose over that spot like a silver locket, but tonight the sky was black.

  As he strode toward her, his vision cleared in layers, revealing first her wrapper, then her ivory skin and finally a halo of starlight in her hair. Leaving a foot between them, he rested his forearms on the railing. Bending to ease the pain in his side, he stared with her into the night. The silhouette of pines turned the forest into a fence, trapping him in a patch of shadows and loss, a dark place that offered no easy answers.

  Keeping his voice low, he said, “I’m sorry about the smoking. I guess I’m used to living alone.”

  “Your bad habits are your own business,” she said. “The only issue between us is Susanna.”

  John’s gaze drifted past the trees to the sky. The same stars were glimmering over Wyoming where Susanna was searching for something he didn’t have to give. “I’ll get a bank draft tomorrow. After that, I’ll send you money every month.”

  Abbie shook her head. “Money isn’t enough.”

  “It has to be. I’m not cut out to be a father.”

  The last thing he expected to hear from Abbie was gentle laughter. Tipping her head to his, she said, “This may surprise you, but I know how you feel. When my monthly didn’t start, I was terrified.”

  Abbie had faced the fear and shame with courage, and here he stood whimpering like a kicked dog. John felt like a fool. “What happened after you were sure?”

  “I knew I couldn’t stay at home. My father wasn’t a judge yet, but he still cared about his reputation. I made plans to run away as soon as I saved a little money, but my mother saw me tossing up my breakfast. My father was in Chicago while you and I were together, but she knew I’d been alone on the farm. She put two and two together.”

  “I’m surprised the judge didn’t get his shotgun.”

  “My brother told him you were a drifter, maybe even a wanted man. He didn’t know your name, and my father forbade me to talk about what had happened. He gave me a choice. Marry Robert, or have the baby in Chicago and come home without her. I took my chances on Robert.”

  John stared into the black night. He hated to ask the next question, but he had to know. “Did Robert have feelings for you?”

  She tightened her mouth with disgust, as if she’d gotten another whiff of smoke. “He married me because he wanted my father’s political endorsement. We hadn’t even met when I took a train to Washington. We got married that afternoon in a courthouse and that was it.”

  John felt the stars plumbing the depths of his guilt. To give his daughter a home, Abbie had forsaken her own chance for love. He owed her something for
that sacrifice, so he made his voice gentle. “What can I do for Susanna?”

  Abbie put her hand on his forearm and squeezed. He felt all sorts of things in her touch—courage, longing and hope that made him ache. “Just be kind to her.”

  How could John say no? “I won’t hurt her. You have my word.” Needing to make the promise real, he cupped his fingers over Abbie’s, offering recognition of the past and a truce for the future.

  She pulled back as if she’d touched cold metal. “We can’t stay long anyway. I have to get to Kansas.”

  “A family visit?”

  “I suppose. I have to talk to my father about Robert’s estate.”

  If Abbie needed money, John wanted to know. The trick was asking without revealing he’d noticed her worn-out clothes. He made his voice casual. “When a man dies unexpectedly, it can leave a family in a bind. I’ve been wondering if Robert left you with a decent income.”

  Abbie gave a bitter laugh. “There’s plenty of money in a trust for Robbie but not a dime for Susanna. As for living expenses, I have an allowance that barely covers food and coal.”

  “That’s just plain wrong. No matter how your marriage started, you were partners. He owes you.”

  A winsome smile curled Abbie’s lips. “You sound like Maggie. She’s running the house while I’m gone. When women earn the right to vote, it’ll be because of her.”

  John figured they could talk politics later. Right now he needed to understand her finances. “Who’s in charge of the estate now?”

  “A disgusting man named Jefferson Hodge. He thinks women are weak-minded and silly—not to mention incapable of handling money.”