Jeff had expected a heftier, older-looking woman, but the woman hurrying down the street now had a lovely, slender shape and looked far younger than what Jeff figured she must be—somewhere around forty-five years old. She wore a well-fitted yellow checkered dress, and her ash-blond hair showed no hint of gray.
So small! he quickly wrote. I expected a stout and somber woman; she was somehow bigger in my imagination. How does such a tiny woman handle a man like Jake Harkner?
The rugged, dangerous-looking Harkner finally halted his horse when he saw the woman coming. He dismounted and removed the extra belt slung over his shoulder, hanging it around his horse’s neck. He threw down his cigarette and walked up to her. It struck Jeff then how tall Jake was, perhaps six feet and two or three inches. He towered over the woman, who looked past him at the men he’d brought in, then warily eyed the young men standing on the boardwalk near the jail. Jeff snuck closer, straining to hear.
“Where’s Lloyd?” the woman asked with a worried look.
In a surprisingly gentle move, Jake put an arm around her shoulders and led her a few feet away. “He headed to the Donavans’. He’ll stay there the night, I expect. He was anxious to see Katie again.”
The woman smiled and they said something more to each other. Jeff could hardly believe it when Harkner leaned down and kissed her cheek before grasping her arm and gently steering her aside. “Stay out of the way till I take care of Brad Buckley,” he warned. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
So, Jeff observed, the man’s wife can change him from a cougar to a kitten with one look. It was becoming clear that this book also had to be a love story. How strange that a man like Jake could love anyone. Even more strange that someone could love Jake Harkner, especially someone as lovely and seemingly gracious as Miranda.
“Hey, Jake, I bet the Buckley and the Bryant boys wish they hadn’t gone up against the likes of you, señor, huh?” The words were spoken by an older Mexican man.
Jake waved him off as he tied his horse in front of the jail, removing both his shotgun and rifle from the saddle. “Juan, you talk too much,” he told the man. “Take care of the horses once I unload these men, will you?”
“Sí, amigo.”
“Estoy ansioso para poner en orden este asunto y regresar a mi esposa.”
The old man grinned more. “Ah, señor, lo comprendo.”
The conversation answered one of Jeff’s questions: Jake Harkner did sometimes speak in Spanish. Jeff didn’t understand what was said, except that he knew esposa meant wife. Supposedly Harkner’s mother had been Mexican, and one rumor was that Harkner’s father had killed the woman. No one knew any details, and all had advised Jeff never to ask Harkner about it…or if he’d really killed his own father. The subject was apparently closed for the man, and Jeff swallowed at the thought of trying to bring it up. He watched Harkner hand his shotgun to his wife.
“Get farther back,” he warned her. “I’ll be finished here in a few minutes, and I’m tired as hell. You should go back to the house. I’ll be along.”
“I’m not going anywhere until that young man across the street goes back inside. I don’t like the looks of this, Jake.”
Jake sighed. “You just be careful with that shotgun. It’s still loaded.”
Sparky came out of the jail then to greet Jake. “Damn it, Jake, you have to quit rounding up so many of these no-goods. You’re crowding my jail.”
Jeff caught a quick grin on Harkner’s face. The man actually smiles!
“Sorry about that, Sparky. Want me to shoot a couple of them to give you more room?”
Sparky guffawed at what Jeff hoped was a joke, but he wasn’t so sure Harkner didn’t mean it.
“Send a wire to Edmond and have them send a wagon up here for this bunch,” Jake told the sheriff then. He handed over a bank bag obviously stuffed with money. “This has to be returned to the bank in Edmond. And when you send that wire, tell Sheriff Kennedy there that they’ll need extra men to take this bunch back to Edmond. A marshal from Oklahoma City can take them from there. They’ll likely be hanged or sent to the federal pen in Michigan. I’ll come around Monday to sign papers.”
The marshal took another cigarette from a pocket inside his vest as Jeff dared to step even closer. He rolled up his shirtsleeves against the warming temperatures, and Jeff noticed that although Harkner was in his midfifties, his forearms showed hard muscle. Handsome Outlaw is very fitting, he noted. He watched the man light his cigarette. As he did so, the marshal glanced at Jeff, and the look in his dark eyes was stunningly suspicious and threatening. Jeff stepped back a little and nodded to the man. Harkner’s eyes said it all: he didn’t like strangers watching him. His eyes showed a combination of curiosity, distrust, and a warning to stay out of his way as he looked Jeff over, summing him up. Obviously not impressed and sensing no danger, he gave him a brief nod and turned away.