He walked a few feet away, and her heart ached for him. If Lloyd was already dead, she would lose Jake too. He would never be the same man again. For now she understood what he was saying. Emotions could get in the way when a man was going up against someone like Latimer. For the next day or two she would hardly know her husband. To take on someone as ruthless as Jube Latimer, one had to be even more ruthless. She did not doubt the old Jake could be just that, and that was who he was now—the Jake Harkner who had shot down that bounty hunter in Kansas City—the Jake Harkner who had taken on Bill Kennedy’s bunch.
The door to the cabin was flung open then, and a plump, burly man who needed a shave and whose hair was thinning on top walked quickly toward Jake. He wore pants but no socks and no shirt, yet he seemed oblivious to the cold.
“Harkner! Lord Jesus, Jake, I ain’t seen you in eighteen, nineteen years!”
Jake turned, putting out his hand. “Hello, Charlie.”
“By God, if it ain’t the sonofabitch who cleaned my ass out at cards the last time you was in these parts. You always was one to outdo me, you bastard!” The man guffawed, and Miranda climbed down from her horse, trying to ignore his language. He was from another world, from another life Jake had led. Tate looked at Hank Downing, who had followed him out. “Hank, Jake here used to be the meanest sonofabitch you’d ever want to cross, and that ain’t no exaggeration. Back in the war he tallied up more of them union bastards than he could count. That’s when me and him and Jess was runnin’ guns to the Rebels. Wasn’t nobody much willin’ to cross him. Nobody! He was good with his guns, good with his fists, and damn good with the women! Hell, the whores used to fight over him.”
Jake grinned a little. “Watch your mouth, Tate. I’ve got my wife with me.”
“Your wife! Jesus Christ, are you crazy or somethin’?”
“No. She is!” Jake answered.
“She must be, to have married you!” Tate glanced at Miranda, who nodded to him. He tipped his hat slightly. “Lord God, if she ain’t a looker! Hello, ma’am. Name’s Charlie Tate. I know Jake from way back when he was too damn mean and ornery for the likes of you. How in God’s name did you manage to find any good in this ol’ outlaw?”
The man turned back to Jake before Miranda could say a word. “You must have done some fast talkin’ to get a woman like that, Jake. She’s about the prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on, and God knows I’ve laid eyes on a lot of women.” The man laughed again, finally letting go of Jake’s hand. “This the woman you was pinin’ over last time you was hangin’ around these parts? Wasn’t that right after you shot the hell out of Bill Kennedy and his bunch back in California?”
“It was.” Jake looked at Randy, a hint of apology in his eyes for the way Charlie talked. “Jess and I both knew Charlie back during the war,” he explained. “I saw him a time or two when I came here after California.”
Miranda nodded to him. “How do you do, Mr. Tate.”
The man laughed again, showing tobacco-stained teeth. He was a big man, but Miranda guessed it was more fat than muscle. He was obviously older than Jake, but looked sturdy in spite of his big belly. “Damned if I don’t do just fine,” he answered.
“What the hell are you doing still hanging around these parts?” Jake asked the man. “I figured you’d have moved on by now, or else got yourself shot.”
“Hell, I ain’t fit for no place else. I help out the Wild Bunch sometimes—you know, Butch Cassidy and them—worked for the James boys back in the seventies. I rebrand their cattle for them, sell stolen goods, that kind of thing. I make good whiskey money, that’s about all, but hell, what else does a man need but good whiskey and a hungry woman in his bed at night? There’s plenty of both all along this trail. I expect you sure as hell know that.”
Miranda reddened, turning away and walking back to her horse, again fighting old jealousies. She never had asked Jake if he had turned to any prostitutes in their two-year separation, and she decided it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered now but finding Lloyd and all of them being a family again.
“I don’t have time for reminiscing, Charlie. Downing says you expected I’d show up. You must know why I’m here. I’m looking for my son. Downing says Latimer’s got him. I intend to get him back. Can you help me?”
“I can help,” Charlie was saying. “Hell, I rode with Latimer myself for a while, but I got out of that bunch. They’re bad, Jake. I’ve done a lot of wrong things in my life, but I ain’t that bad.”