The Outlaw's Bride

Their association had proved thus far to be profitable to them both, Debra considering herself the winner with a new corral and a pasture already partly fenced in.

Tyler said the neighbor had seemingly been satisfied regarding his presence at Debra’s farm, nodding agreeably when he was told that Tyler was helping with the crops and caring for the livestock. Agreeing that Debra needed help and hiring a hand to work for her seemed logical.

But, as Tyler said, the man had smiled broadly as he spoke of Debra’s hard work and her need for a husband. As if he considered Tyler an applicant for the position. Perhaps that would settle any gossip to be found in town, Tyler thought, and tucked the notion into the back of his mind to consider further.

He’d managed to work enough hours for the neighbor to earn himself a horse, not a prize package to be sure, but a ten-year-old gelding who promised to provide his owner with years of use. Debra didn’t own a saddle and had convinced Tyler that he could ride without the aid of leather between himself and his horse. His determination to purchase a saddle at the earliest opportunity was pure stubbornness on his part, she was sure, but it was an argument she knew she would not win. The man was determined to fit his animal out with all the requisite tools—bridle and bit and a saddle that would make his riding a comfort.

She scorned his need for such trappings, happy with the golden mare she rode, who obeyed the touch of her knees against her sides, the rope she tied about the animal’s neck enough of a guide for what she required of the mare she rode with pride. Tyler watched her, his eyes admiring her skill when she rode, and she delighted in the knowledge that he did not deny her ability to control her horse so easily.

Indeed, she could have ridden without even the rope in her hands, for the animal had been trained to obey her voice, and there existed between them a rapport that made their relationship a joy to watch. Yet she did not deny Tyler the right to his need for a harness for the plowhorse and the saddle he planned to purchase for his gelding.

The amount of hay she had decided to keep for her own use was cut in three days’ time, Tyler wielding the scythe, she spreading the harvest to dry in the sun. Raking it into rows the second day, she examined it and found it dry. By the time he’d cut enough hay to fill her loft, she’d spread it out, then raked it into piles, ready for loading onto a flat wagon from the shed.

Tyler hitched her pack horse to the wagon and together they scooped great armfuls of hay to the flat bed. Her rake gathered up the scattered bits and pieces and she added them to the pile that grew quickly. Hauling the hay back to the shed was but a small task, with Tyler doing the hardest part of the job, loading the hay into the loft for her use later on in the year.

Together they carried the fragrant piles up the ladder, tying it up in a quilt and hauling it through the hole in the floor of the loft, only to dump it and then rake it up into great piles in the drafty loft. Debra looked about her with a sense of pride, that she had managed to harvest so much of her crop with Tyler’s help. She felt rich with the knowledge that her animals would have feed for the long months of winter, thankful for the man who had lent his greater strength to her aid, and thus helped her make gains against the cold weather that was sure to come.

She stood looking at the bountiful piles of winter hay and caught the grin Tyler sent in her direction. He bowed with great ceremony, and approached her diffidently. “Does my work merit a reward?” he asked.

“What did you have in mind?” Her heart beat more rapidly as he surveyed her slowly, his dark eyes lingering on her lips, then traveling down the length of her body.

His words were bold. “Maybe a kiss. Even a hug, if you’re so inclined.”

She thought him a scamp, but reserved her opinion, judging that he’d earned at least a kiss, since it seemed so important to him, and she had more than enough to suit him. Approaching him, she tilted her head a bit, the better to reach his lips and brushed her own against the firm line that awaited her. His mouth softened beneath her touch and he reached for her, not allowing her to escape his embrace.

“How about the hug?” he asked, already taking possession of her with both arms wrapped about her.

“Was I to give the hug, or receive it?” At odds with her own response, she felt a blush climb her cheeks as his muscular frame pressed against her softer body, knew for a moment the heat of his embrace, and then as he bent his head lower, felt his lips snatch another kiss from her willing mouth. It wasn’t a peck, as she’d thought it might be, but a full-blown kiss, involving the damp touch of his tongue against her, edging between her lips, into the warmth of her mouth. He sought the length of her tongue with his, tangling them together, taking her breath with his venture into an intimacy she was not confident with.

She trembled in his grasp, feeling exposed as these waters were too deep for her to gain any sense of balance. “Tyler? Tyler, what are you doing?” She tried to catch her breath as she pulled from his grasp, only to catch a quick glimpse of his lips, curved into a superior sort of smile he’d slanted in her direction.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Just claiming my kiss, and about half a hug.”

“Half a hug? How do you figure that?” She brushed at her dress, unable to meet his gaze, and he laughed.

“I hugged you, but you didn’t hug me back. That’s half a hug in my book, lady. Can you do better?”

She shook her head. “Would you settle for a cup of coffee and fresh coffee cake? I’ve got a pot brewing on the stove and the cinnamon cakes are still warm.”

He grimaced. “Better than nothing, I suspect. But I’m not letting you off the hook, sweetie. I’ll get you another time.”

And that was exactly what she feared, she decided, climbing hastily down from the loft and heading for the house, as far and fast as she could march from his arrogant grin.

And yet, all of his teasing aside, it was a good feeling, she thought, pouring his coffee and cutting the cake, knowing that she was at least halfway prepared for the winter months, knowing that her stock would be fed. And wondering who would be pitching the hay from the loft?

THE FARMER WHO HAD CUT her crop last year was notified to come and take his share, and Tyler spoke with him about the price he should pay for the crop. Apparently surprised that Debra had a champion in residence, Samuel Shane agreed on a price for the hay, and bartered part of his butchering in the fall, plus apples from his orchard for his share of the harvest. If Mr. Shane was curious about Tyler’s place here on her farm, he did not speak of it, only nodded as he agreed with the conditions set out by Debra’s hired man.

Debra was pleased, cautious about expressing her thanks to Tyler, but aware that having a man standing in her stead was indeed a thing to be pleased with. In fact, she found herself thinking about his presence in her home and wishing fervently and silently that his time with her would not soon come to an end.

It was almost as if they shared the farm, she thought, pulling carrots from the garden, plucking beans from their stems. He, with the hammer and his greater strength forming the fences she needed, she with her skills in the kitchen, and throughout the house, making a comfortable place for them to live.

He appealed to her senses, his clean scent, his habits of cleanliness matching so closely her own. He swam nightly in the pool in the pasture, sharing the water with the animals that drank there after dark. His clothing was washed and hung on the clothesline, his trousers and shirts side by side with her own dresses and undergarments. She wondered sometimes what the neighbors thought of the man who lived on her farm with her, but had not sought out their opinion.

That there was talk in town was a given, but she could not bring herself to worry overmuch about gossip. What she did was her own concern, and not fit for speculation by anyone else.

With whom she chose to make her life was private business, and she chose for now to allow Tyler access to her farm and to the house she lived in. They seldom spoke of his past, only living with the knowledge that he might one day take flight from her life.

She had not offered him any glimpse into her own past, living in the present and walking a fine line in his presence. He slept on the floor in her bedroom, changing his mind apparently after the third night of sleeping beside her.

He’d spread his quilt on the rug beside the bed, and without a word had gone to sleep there. Unwilling to question his decision, lest he repent his change of mind, Debra had crawled into her bed each night and slept peacefully, knowing he was nearby, yet not fearful of his presence.

He rose early, stoked the wood-burning cookstove and went out to do chores while she cooked breakfast. Her privacy was not invaded by his presence, for he used the parlor in which to dress, storing his clothing in a drawer in her dresser, but keeping himself apart from her.

It was a strange arrangement, she knew, but it suited them both, and she found comfort in the companionship he offered. They spoke but little, only words that related to the work they did, he with his building, she with the gardening, and only when she sat on the porch in the evening and watched the sun dip beneath the horizon did she feel the need for more from him.

That he might fill a permanent place in her life was not considered, for she knew he would not linger longer than it would take for him to plot out his future. He had a horse now, and a bit of money set aside, due to his work on the neighboring farm. Soon he would surely be on his way, leaving her alone again.

But better off than before, for he had laid out the fencing for the pasture and by the time the second cutting of hay approached, he had completed the job. Her horses and the milk cow roamed at will beneath the trees, spending their days with heads lowered to the ground, where the meadow grass grew in abundance. The sides of her bay mare rounded more each week it seemed, and it seemed that by the end of winter she would see her own golden mare producing an offspring of her own.

Whether the mare had been covered by a wild mustang or perhaps the neighbor’s stud, a stallion who had frequently escaped confinement and roamed the far pastures and meadows, was a moot question. That her golden mare had had an encounter with the stud was a probability, she knew, and she spoke of it to Tyler.

“If she drops another golden foal, it will have been from the sorrel stud,” she said, watching the horses one day. He stood beside her, and his nod agreed with her prediction.

“I’ve heard that a mare such as yours only breeds true if a sorrel is the sire.”

“It’s what my mother’s people said. And they were experts at the art of raising horses.”

He turned to her, a question alive on his lips. “Did you have any problems in town yesterday?” She’d gone in to the general store with her supply of eggs and butter, and made the trip alone, Tyler remaining at the farm.

“The storekeeper asked if I had a man living with me.” Her voice was quiet, but he sensed the pain behind her reply. “He wanted to know if you had serious intentions where I was concerned. I suppose it was a backhanded way of asking if you were going to marry me.”

“Did he give you a bad time? Or didn’t you tell him the truth?”

“It was none of his business, but he knew already. My neighbor no doubt told about your working for him. And I made it clear that you were a hired hand, and not a permanent fixture here.

“At any rate, he was reluctant to sell supplies to me, but he needed my butter and eggs, so he had no choice. The townsfolk who don’t have animals of their own depend on farmers to supply their needs, and my butter is always rich from the Jersey’s cream.” Her smile smacked of the victory she’d known, there in town, where she had attained a degree of respect.

“So they talk about me being here. Has anyone asked you who I am?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have offered anything anyway. I’m not known for being talkative. One of the ladies was curious about you, wondered if I’d known you sometime in the past, and was curious about your living here. She suggested that it didn’t look good for me to have you living here, what with me being a woman alone, but I made it clear that it wasn’t her concern. She only smiled at that and I suspect that there’s talk that we’re…” Her pause was long and he felt a pang of regret that she should be considered the less for his presence in her life.

“Have you ever thought of marriage? Has anyone ever approached you and asked to court you?”

She offered him a look of such surprise he almost laughed aloud. “What’s so strange about such a thing, Debra? You’re a beautiful woman, with a thriving farm, and surely there are men about who would want to possess both you and your property.”

“I’m still a half-breed. No matter how much land I own, or how well my land produces, I’m not a woman to appeal to white men. Perhaps for other reasons, but not for marriage.”

“Have you had problems with the men hereabouts? Have they bothered you?”

She shook her head, then seemed to hesitate. “A bit, but my shotgun has been sufficient to keep them at bay.” She clutched the top rail of the fence tightly. “I fear that I may be taken by surprise someday, that someone may come upon me when I’m in the garden or the shed and my gun is not with me.”

“You don’t carry it, Debra? Would it be wise to keep it by your side?”

She turned to him and her gaze was level. “Not with you here. No one will approach me as long as you stay.” Her smile teased him. “I consider you a form of insurance against predators.”

“And when I’m gone?”

Her head drooped and he thought her shoulders sagged a bit, as if she were troubled by that thought. And then she straightened and her chin lifted, perhaps with pride.

“I’ll be as I was before you got here. Alone, but able to care for myself and what is mine.”

He reached out to her, his fingers brushing the fine skin of her cheek and she inhaled sharply, her eyes widening as if she would withdraw from his touch. He would not allow it, but stepped closer, curving his palm against her face and turning her to better see the expression she wore.

“What if I stayed, Debra? What if I made this my home, and you…” He took a breath, knowing she might flee from his words. “What if we were to marry? Could you spend your life with me, knowing of my past? Knowing I’ve taken a life?”

The words fell between them and she twisted from his touch, her eyes wide with panic, as if she feared him. He would not have it. She had not feared him, had not flinched from his presence in weeks, and now she acted as if he had grown horns.

“Don’t pull away from me,” he said harshly. “I’m still the same man I was ten minutes ago, Debra. I’m not going to pounce on you or hurt you in any way. I thought you knew me well enough by now not to fear me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t fear you. My hesitation is not because you’ve taken a life, for I know you were justified in what you did. I just can’t accept the idea of marriage to a white man. Nor to a man of my mother’s people, for that matter. I will live my life alone.”

“Why?” His question was bold, he knew, but his need to know her thoughts was heavy on him. “Why can’t you be my wife? I wouldn’t expect more of you than what you give me gladly. I’m not a harsh man, nor will I change overnight if you bear my name. I’m free of hindrance, with no family to tie me. And I’m a hard worker, surely you’ve seen that. I wouldn’t be a bad husband.”

Her eyes were dark, black with what appeared to be fear, and he failed to understand what she dreaded. “Do I frighten you, Debra?” And if she nodded, he would mount his horse and leave, for the thought of her fear made him feel less than a man.

She placed the flat of her hand on his chest, and he felt the warmth of it radiate throughout his body. Unmoving, she measured him with her gaze, her eyes taking stock of his face, his arms, the length of his legs and the width of his chest where her palm had laid claim to the body beneath it.

“Your heartbeat is strong,” she said quietly. “It is the beat of an honest heart, Tyler, and you are an honest man. I can not deny that. You have been good to me, you’ve worked for me and taken hold as if this were your own place.” Her tongue touched her upper lip as if she hesitated to speak further and he held his breath, for surely her words would frame his future.

His hand lifted to cover hers and he felt the warmth of long fingers and the fragile bones of a woman beneath his touch. “I would take you as my wife, Debra, if you agree. I’ll work for you and provide for you as a husband, and if I’m hunted down, I’ll leave you as I found you. You won’t bear shame because of my past.”

“You will expect to share my bed.” It was a statement of fact, not a query, and he considered it as such. Her mouth trembled as he watched, the first sign of feminine weakness she’d shown in his presence. His index finger rose to touch the line of her upper lip and he caressed it carefully.

“Yes.” It was a single word, but it spoke volumes, and he recognized her hesitation for what it was. She had not known a man’s body, and feared being used as a wife.

He watched his hand, saw the trembling of his fingers as they spread once more against her cheek. “I need you as a man needs a woman, but I won’t take what you hold dear. Unless you offer your body to me, I’ll do without the comfort of your woman’s flesh.”

“Men aren’t usually so willing to—” Her voice broke off as if she could not bring herself to speak the words that filled her throat.

“I’m not most men.” He bent to her, lifting her chin with his palm and touched her lips with his own, brushing lightly against the softness he found there. “I would treasure the kiss you give me,” he said softly.

Her lips were a temptation he found it almost impossible to turn from and he coaxed her gently, his own opening but slightly, not wanting to frighten her with the desire that filled him. She was soft, gently formed, and he had been long without a woman in his arms. Not since his wife’s death had he yearned so for the pleasure to be found in the depths of a female’s body.

And now his yearning was great, his arousal prominent and obvious as he pressed her against himself. His arms around her were firm and she accepted his touch, leaning against him as if his heat drew her. His hand slipped down her back, pressing her closer, and he felt her warmth enclose his need.

It was all he could do not to hold himself against her more firmly, but he knew she would be frightened if he kept her captive, and so he relaxed his arms a bit, offering her the space to move from him.

Debra felt her body still, knew a moment of fear as she sensed his man’s arousal against her belly. She’d not known the feel of a man’s flesh, but knew the look of a man before he takes a woman to his bed. The braves of her mother’s tribe had made no secret of their prowess with the women of the tribe, and more than one had come to her mother and offered himself to her.

It had frightened the girl who watched, and she’d buried her head in her bedding as the sounds of a man using her mother had hammered into her memory. Now she knew the body of an aroused man for herself, knew the feel of his need for her and felt a returning desire for his touch.

“You’re a virgin, Debra, and I would not hurt you or take you to bed unless you become my wife first.” His words penetrated her sense of fear and she relaxed against him. “Does my need for you frighten you, little bird?”

She nodded, once, and then stood with her face buried against his chest. Her words were soft, poignant, and her voice faltered as she spoke. “I saw the men of my mother’s tribe. One of them came to her while I lay nearby.” She could not continue, and her voice broke.

“It was not for a child to see or hear such a thing,” he said roughly. “You didn’t understand what was happening, and you were but a child, too young to be exposed to your mother’s—”

“She wasn’t willing, but he took her anyway,” Debra said. “I heard her cry when he used her body, and he laughed at her, told her she was but a woman and good for nothing else.”

“And did you believe what he said?” Tyler held her close, wanting only to cherish the young child she had been and the woman she was now.

“I suppose I did then,” she admitted. “For I knew no better. But now I know that he only tried to shame her in order to make himself look more a man.”

“He was less than a man, to take a woman without her yielding to him gladly,” Tyler said softly. “He had no right. Men have no rights but those a woman gives them.”

“You come from a different world than I. Women are not cherished by men in my remembrance, all but my father, and the way he was with my mother when I was a child.”

“Then try to remember that and forget the rest,” Tyler told her. “Recall only the good things that happened in your life, the family you lived with here on your father’s farm, the good times you shared with him and your mother. He must have loved you to leave you his land. He must have known you would care for it and keep it as it was.”

“My mother said he loved me.” It seemed but little for a woman to cherish, the secondhand knowledge of her father’s love, but it was obviously a comfort to the woman he held, and Tyler added what warmth he could to the knowledge she held so dear.

His arms were strong, his body warm, and she nestled against him as if she’d come home. Her breath was shattered as she inhaled deeply, the sound faltering, as if she suppressed tears, and he would not shame her by acknowledging her sadness.

“Marry me, Debra. Be my wife, little nightbird. You may not feel any desire for me now, but it will come, I promise you. One day you’ll want me as I want you.”

She tipped her head back and met his gaze, her eyes dark with a look he dared hope might be desire for him. His mouth touched hers again and his kiss was welcomed, her own lips warm against his, her breath sweet. He did not press for more, only the touch of her flesh comforting his own.

Her arms slipped around his neck and she pressed her body closer to his, fitting herself to the length of him, her breasts against his chest, allowing his hips to nestle in the cradle of her own. And if his arousal frightened her, she did not draw back from him, only shifted a bit as though she wondered at the pressure of his manhood against her.

His mouth lifted from hers, his lips closed, for he would not frighten her with his passion, knowing she would fear the touch of his tongue should he use it to force his way into the warmth of her mouth. She clung to him, her hands strong as she held the nape of his neck, her body conforming to the shape of his own.

“You give yourself sweetly,” he said, his voice a low hum in her ear. “I can barely keep from lying you on the ground and taking you for my own.”

She shook her head, rubbing it on his chest, denying his need. “I don’t think I can do as you want, Tyler. My mother told me once that there is pain when a man takes a woman for the first time, that his path is not smooth, that he must forge a way into her body that gives her only pain.”

“There is pain in that,” he admitted. “But it is overcome by the pleasure to follow, if a man is careful, if he is gentle and cares for the woman he beds.” His hands touched her sides, measuring her waist and the width of her hips, then met at her back, soothing the line of her spine with tender strokes.

“I would be gentle with you, little bird. I would not cause you pain if it can be helped.”

She trembled against him, and he knew her fear was real, that she held memories of a time long past, when she had been exposed to the dark side of a man’s needs.

CHAPTER FOUR