Love’s Sweet Revenge(2)

Ten years younger than he and looking much younger than that, Miranda Harkner was still beautiful and slender and gentle and soft and loving, after all he’d put her through over the years. A bit to the south lay the lovely, sprawling log home he’d built for her. He’d bought her all the most modern appliances, including a huge coal cooking stove with two ovens, plenty of cooktop room for big meals, and a warming rack above that. She had two big iceboxes, kept cold by straw-packed ice brought down from the mountains by some of the ranch hands.

Randy loved to cook, but cleaning the coal heater and the ovens was a lot of work, so he’d hired a Mexican woman for that and to help with other housework. As far as he was concerned, his wife had been through enough hard work, and some of it without him. He’d made sure she had whatever furniture she wanted—fine china and hutches to store it in, her choice of rugs and antiques—and any lovely dresses she desired. She was still beautiful, and she complemented any dress she wore.

He closed his eyes and shook his head at how undeserving he was to be loved by such a woman. He wanted her to have everything good and beautiful he could give her. His heart ached at the thought that she still suffered anxiety whenever he was gone for long periods of time. This resulted from his absences when running from the law and the years he spent in prison—then having to ride away for days or weeks at a time as a marshal.

That anxiety was part of the reason she’d come with him this time to check the southern and western borders of the ranch. Early spring meant looking for broken fences or signs of rustling or squatters, and for cattle that might have been ravished by wolves or those that had not survived the cold and snows of winter.

This moment had to be the best he’d ever known in his long and battered life, right here, standing in a little weatherworn cabin in western Colorado, his wife asleep in a homemade pine bed inside, nestled into its feather mattress. More birds joined the little lark and flittered here and there, chirping their songs to spring. Soon the aspen leaves would open up and glitter in the wind, but he didn’t doubt another fierce snowstorm would swoop down from the mountains across the foothills one more time before winter was truly done with its violent wrath. That was expected in the Rockies, but today smelled of real spring.

He jumped when he heard a rustling sound, his hand going to his hip in a reflex he couldn’t quite get over, but this morning his gun wasn’t there. A deer jumped out from behind a limber pine.

A deer.

Not an outlaw. Not a lawman. Not a drunk. Not an Indian. Not a cattle rustler. Not a prostitute. Not someone out to claim he’d killed Jake Harkner.

Just a deer.

“Jake?”

He straightened, taking a last drag on the cigarette and tossing it into the dirt beyond the cabin. He went inside to see Randy huddled under the quilts.

“What are you doing outside in your underwear?” she asked. “You’ll catch your death. Come over here and warm yourself up beside me.”

Jake grinned as he shut the door. “You might regret it.”

“And why would I? I have never regretted inviting you to bed.”

Jake laughed lightly and walked closer. “I’ve already taken care of a few things and cleaned up. I was out there enjoying the peace and the view, waiting for my love-starved wife to call me to her bed.” He lifted the covers and crawled in beside her.

“Well, far be it for any wife of yours to be love-starved,” Randy quipped. “I wonder sometimes if all men your age still enjoy sex as much as you do, or if it’s just because you romped with too many wild women in your younger years and can’t quite get away from the enjoyment.”

“It could be the latter,” he answered, pulling her into his arms, “or it could be because my wife is still a beautiful woman who makes me want her every time I look at her.” He kissed her lightly. “And who can get pretty wild herself.”

“Speaking of wild women, don’t go hanging out with any when you make those trips to Denver. I know your penchant for befriending ladies of the night.”

“If I did, you’d know it. You always do.” He kissed her eyes.

“Mmm-hmm.” Randy smiled softly as she traced a finger over his dark eyebrows, the thin scar down the side of his face. “The fact remains that you are still an extremely handsome, well-built man who could have any woman he wants,” she answered, leaning up to kiss him again. “And a lot of women want you because you are famous and mysterious and notorious.”

Jake frowned. “I’m mysterious and notorious?”

Randy fingered his still-thick, dark hair, now streaked with hints of gray. “You know darn well that’s how some women see you.”