The Outlaw

1

CAROLINE

The little snooze I took between August Point and Lewistown had been an act. Everything for me was an act. So much so that I was afraid I was losing myself. Perhaps I'd already done so, accepting a marriage of convenience as I had. The journey from Minneapolis to the Montana Territory had been interminable, rocking to and fro on a train, then cramped in a stage with two other women who were as nervous, as wary about their fates, as I. Eleanor and Emily, who were also mail order brides, had met their husbands at the appropriate stops, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I journeyed to my final destination. Apex. At long last.

I'd never had close friends; my miserable family life had not condoned, nor made those types of alliances, amenable. A friend from school would stop by to visit, yet only stay as long as my father was not present. Once he did make his presence known, she would scurry away to her own safe home like a mouse at the lighting of a lantern. One look at the gleam in his eye, the harsh tone of his voice and they knew his true nature. Evil. And so I grew up mostly alone. No confidants, no bosom buddy to laugh and share nonsensical items such as hair ribbons. Because of the man's perfidy, I had accustomed myself to a miserable, solitary lifestyle, making the journey west with two others quite an adjustment.

Not that either Eleanor or Emily were unkind. The opposite, in fact. They were women with whom I felt a kindred spirit. Vivacious, lively, light of heart. We were, though, only short-term friends as we were married to men in three different towns, mere dots on the vast landscape of the Montana Territory. I held no hopes of seeing them again, even though we'd vowed to keep in touch, and once alone in the stage I felt the comfort and familiarity of solitude. Solitude was safe. Even now, hundreds of miles from Minneapolis, even knowing my father could not come back from the dead to hurt me further, I feared. I never stopped being wary. Afraid.

The stage was stifling, the air thick with dust, the heat heavy like a winter blanket. I folded back a leather flap, allowing the cool breeze to enter, although the only exposed skin on my body to enjoy it were my face and my hands. Even the pale blue dress's collar was confining. I longed to undo the tiny buttons at my throat, but this would be unseemly. Appearances were all that mattered. I couldn't let anyone guess as to the real me. The real Caroline. If they discovered where I came from, what I'd done, well...I couldn't consider it.

No one had to know that my mild, pleasant demeanor was all a facade. A facade so well constructed that at times I forgot I wasn't the meek, mild waif I appeared. I couldn't change that I was a waif. Petite, thin, I could be taken for a boy, although my bosom could not be disguised. Emily always commented on how perfect I always looked, my hair neatly styled, my clothes crisp and fresh. Little did she know it was out of habit--a habit that had saved me from a beating often enough--that I remained so...perfect.

The stage hit a rut in the supposed path and it rocked me into the side of the stage, bumping my shoulder into the wooden wall. Bruises would cover me from bottom to back before my journey was complete. I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose, counted to ten. I could do this. I would survive. I would get by, without Eleanor or Emily, with a husband that was a complete stranger. In a land so foreign from the likes of Minneapolis it could have been France or Timbuktu.

Quick glimpses of the other ladies' husbands when the stage had stopped had me hopeful that mine would be as appealing. Eleanor's was August Point's sheriff, standing tall and his bearing dominant like his profession. Emily's man was strong and solid, with a brooding demeanor, yet seemed quite pleased at the sight of her.

Horace Meecham. My husband. Would Horace be as appealing to every feminine sense as the other men Mrs. Bidwell had chosen? The mail order madame who'd arranged and facilitated the marriages could be a lifesaver, or a prison warden, sending me to a lifetime sentence of...I wouldn't think about that.

Glancing out the opening, vast green prairie was all I could see. The grass waved with the breeze, looking like a soft carpet, especially with the warm sun shining upon it. The expanse was inviting to my confined spirit. I longed to roam free, with nothing or no one binding me to their dictates. I'd spent all of my nineteen years beneath the cruel thumb of my father, then quickly thrust into three weeks traveling with two companions. I'd soon be shackled to a man for the rest of my life. Would there be any time when I was truly free?

A loud crack startled me from my thoughts and it was a moment before I realized what had made the sound. A gun had been fired! The stage lurched sharply to the left and I teetered on the edge of the seat. Had the driver been shot? As the stage slowed, I jolted forward, falling onto the floor, my knees smarting at the hard contact. The driver--thankfully not dead--yelled at the horses to slow. Bracing my hands on the bench seat in front of me, careful not to bump my head as the stage staggered and shuddered to a stop. Even with the animals halted in their tracks, their snorts and harsh breathing loud, my heart raced on. Bewildered, I glanced out the window, but from my position on the floor, I could only see the blue, cloudless sky.

What the hell are you shooting at me for, Masters? Mr. McCallister, the stage driver, yelled, all riled and angry, although that seemed the way of him all the time. The men must be acquaintances if he knew his name which offered me a brief moment of comfort. Then I realized he wouldn't have shot at the stage if not for a valid reason. McCallister knew an outlaw by name?

I want what's in the stage. The man's voice was deep, clear. And nearby.

I was in the stage. Quickly, I dropped down to ensure my entire person was beneath the edge of the window, my pale hair a beacon in the sunshine. Darting a glance around the small area, I searched for a place to hide. It was a silly venture; the space was spartan and offered nowhere to go. Except out.

There's nothing of value. No bank box. Nothing. Silence. Then, Why in tarnation are you taking to robbing the stage? Have you lost your mind? Your spread not keeping you busy enough? Isn't it best to keep your identity a secret, or are you planning on shooting me dead?

I gulped down the panic that lodged in my throat. Would he shoot us?

McCallister, quit your yapping, the man replied. The woman. I want the woman.

My eyes widened in surprise. Oh God. He wanted me. The outlaw wanted me. I'd heard stories of stages being robbed with often deadly results. But those had just been stories. This was real life.

She's destined for Apex and Meecham, Mr. McCallister countered.

Not anymore.

The man didn't say more, as if that was the final say in their conversation.

The voices came from the door at my right, so slowly, carefully, I opened the door on the left, hoping to slip out.

Did you think to hide in plain sight? There's nothing but prairie all around. The deep voice now spoke to me. Without me hearing, the man had opened the door and witnessed my attempted retreat. If I'd been paying any attention at all, if I hadn't been so panicked, I would have noticed the air was cooler, fresher even. The gloomy space was brighter with the sunshine pouring in the open doorway around the man's figure.

I sucked in a lungful of air, closed my eyes and started my count that always helped to instill calm.

Well? the outlaw asked, disturbing my efforts.

Turning tentatively, I met the man's gaze. Or at least I tried to, but he was just a black silhouette against the brightness. Standing as he was, the stage only showed him from hip up, a wide brimmed hat on his head. I could tell he was tall, broad shouldered, solid, but that was all.

Why.... I cleared my throat, squinting from the bright sunshine behind him. Why do you want me? I asked, my voice surprisingly steady considering the situation. I'm of no importance.

Why not?

You don't know me. I shook my head slowly.

You don't know Horace Meecham either, he replied. Come.

He held out his hand to me, patient. The outlaw was patient?

I just stared at it, as if it were a snake with venomous teeth.

He sighed. Loudly. Before I had a chance to retreat, he reached in and grabbed me about the waist, lifting me from the floor and out into the bright sunshine as if I weighed less than a bag of feathers.

Oh, I gasped at the surprising move. Squinting once again, I shielded my eyes from the sun and tried to pull away. His hands were large and easily spanned my waist. There was no question he could restrain me readily enough, but he let me go, the warmth of his hands on my skin, even through my dress, raised goose flesh.

I bolted, in which direction I did not know.

There's nowhere for you to go, he called out. "You can't hide. I will catch you."

His words halted me in my tracks. He was right. He had a horse and he was a man, a good head taller. I couldn't outrun him. Unless I were to hide in a prairie dog hole, I could be spotted for miles.

Breathing hard from the brief burst of energy, I stopped, turned around. Looked at the man for the first time.

My breath caught again, yet for a different reason entirely. This man...oh, this man was handsome. Not in the way I was used to, slick and pale, with crisp clothes and standoffish manners. He had red hair. No, that wasn't the right word. Russet, auburn even. I could see the sun glinting off of it beneath his hat, which meant it was on the long side. His eyes were a striking green, his nose long, mouth full. It was the strong jaw, with a dusting of red whiskers, that was the first hint to his strength. It was how his blue shirt fit his strong body. The way it set snugly across his shoulders, how it contoured his narrow waist, tucked into his denim pants. He was like Hercules, the Greek god I read about in books. Michelangelo's David, perfectly proportioned and a veritable treat for the eyes.

Like what you see? he asked, a devilish smirk upturning the corner of his lips.

My mouth fell open at his smugness. Heat flushed my skin, and not from the sun. My nipples tightened beneath the confines of my corset. My body was reacting of its own accord, completely at odds with my brain. The man was