Outlaw Hearts(22)

Miranda heard another gun chamber whirl, and her heartbeat quickened. She had let herself believe he was telling the truth about not hurting her. She hoped her own basic instincts were right. What convinced her was the day she had shot him, the way he looked at her, the fact that he could have shot back but did not. She had seen a side to him while he was sick that she guessed few people knew anything about, and strangest of all, there was something about him she had begun to like, although she could not quite name it. Was it just a woman’s reaction to such a man, or was it like feeling sorry for a wounded animal?

In her whole life, she could not remember her emotions being so confused. She had always been so sure of herself, sure of what she wanted, able to clearly judge other people. But this man was an enigma, a man she had no doubt could be ruthless, but who still harbored a frightened, possibly abused child within his big, virile frame.

“Don’t worry, I’m going,” he answered. “But that soup you make and that shot of whiskey and a good sleep this afternoon did wonders. Give me a couple more days’ rest and I can be out of your hair completely. I’m sure that will make you sleep better at night.” The last words were spoken with a hint of bitterness. “If you’ll bring in my gear, I can clean these guns,” he added.

Miranda faced him. “So you can go on killing?”

His dark eyes turned to smoky anger, and Miranda reminded herself that this man was a drifter and a raider who probably didn’t even know how many men he had killed. Now he stood here, all six feet plus of him, feeling stronger and ornerier. She stepped back when he cocked the revolver and pointed it directly at her, all with a lightning speed that made her gasp.

“So I can defend myself!” he nearly growled. He lowered the gun, an almost sad look coming into his eyes. “Hell, I told you it wasn’t loaded.” He shook his head. “Do you really think I’d hurt you now, after what you went through to keep me alive? You know something? My pa couldn’t see any good in me either. My mother did, but then that’s the way mothers are, isn’t it? Trouble was, Pa didn’t see the good in her either, and he had it in his head that the only way to bring out the good in anybody was to beat it out of them, with a board or a belt or a whip or his fists or anything else that was handy! The more whiskey he had in him, the bigger the weapon.”

He walked up to her and leaned closer, his eyes on fire. “When you live your whole life defending yourself, Randy, it becomes as natural as breathing. My father taught me how not to trust, how not to let myself care about anyone. He made it very clear that I’m a worthless bastard who’ll never amount to bullshit, and he was right! And it’s because of him that I’ve lived a life on the run!”

He towered over her, making her want to back away, but she stubbornly refused to show any fear. He held the revolver in front of her face. “I don’t expect somebody like you, a proper lady who comes from a world I’ve never known, to even begin to understand why I need these! Just know that I do need them, and don’t bitch at me about it!” He stepped back, just staring at her a moment, then turned away and picked up the other revolver. He walked into the bedroom and threw the guns and belts on the bed, then came back into the main room, hating himself for the way she was still just standing there as though frozen in place. “You got a privy out back?”

She swallowed, looking a little pale. “Yes.” He could see her pretending to be unafraid. “I’ll heat some water. When you’re through out back, I’ll help you wash your hair. I can cut it a little for you if you like.”

Jake sighed deeply, thinking how at the moment she reminded him of his mother, not physically, but having that frightened look about her he had seen too many times. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me light into you like that. I guess…there are just things about my life you don’t understand.” He went to the door. “Where’s your rifle? I’m not stepping outside without something to shoot with.”

Miranda began dipping some water from one of the buckets into a black pot. “Do you like dumplings? I thought I would boil some for supper. I’m afraid they will have to be mixed with vegetables. I have no meat. The raiders ran off our livestock and killed all our chickens.” She turned to look at him. “Well? Do you like dumplings?”

“I like them just fine.” Jake thought how he would like nothing more right now than a huge steak and some fried potatoes, but then who was he to order up a meal to his liking? He was just an intruder, and besides, she had no meat. “The rifle?”