Outlaw Hearts(24)

Jake smiled to himself at her sudden concern that he might have gotten cold. She came back and handed him the underwear. He pulled it on and buttoned it, then put his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. It felt good to get dressed, made him feel less at her mercy and more in control. “I guess in our exchange of words earlier, neither one of us thought about me getting dressed.” He began buttoning the shirt. “By the way, I really am sorry about exploding at you.”

Miranda turned and cut more dumplings. “It’s all right. I’m sorry, for judging you. In any case, I see no new bloodstains on those bandages since I changed them earlier today, so you might as well get dressed. I’ll wash your hair while these dumplings cook.”

Jake finished dressing, except for his boots. “How’s Outlaw doing?”

“Outlaw?”

“My horse.”

“Oh, he’s just fine. Eating me out of oats, I might add.”

“I’ll pay you something before I leave. And I’ll see what I can do about getting you some meat—maybe shoot a couple of rabbits or something.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be leaving myself a few days after you do. No sense stocking up on anything. I’ll sell my horses and take a train to Independence, find someone there to take me to Nevada.”

Jake watched her work, realized he enjoyed watching her doing womanly things, enjoyed watching the woman herself. She wore yellow today. He liked that color on her. It was a pretty dress of polished cotton, with white lace around the cuffs and around the modestly cut bodice that showed just a hint of the fullness of her breasts. Had she dressed extra nice just for him? Or was it just her beauty and quiet elegance that made the dress seem prettier than it really was? “You really still planning on going to Nevada?”

“Yes.” Miranda stirred the dumplings, then picked up a hot pad and took hold of the kettle of hot water. “There’s nothing left for me here but bad memories.” She poured some of the water into the wash pan she had set out. “My mother died from injuries from a fall when I was fourteen, and my father blamed himself for not being able to help her. For all his skills as a doctor, there was nothing he could do. That was back in Illinois.” She hung the kettle back over the fire. “Father—his name was Doctor Lawrence Baker—moved here to start fresh, get away from his own bad memories. He gave up doctoring, tried to farm. I met Mack in Kansas City. Mackenzie Hayes was his full name. He was a boot-maker. We married, and two weeks later he volunteered for the war like all young men his age. He fought for the union  , of course.” She glanced at Jake, saw a look of near guilt in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you fought in the war?”

He folded his arms. “No. I was a gunrunner—smuggled rifles and ammunition to the Confederates for gold.”

She paled slightly. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do. By the time the war started, I was already well on my way to living on the wrong side of the law and getting money however I could get it, legally or illegally. What did I know about the reasons for that war? All I saw were a lot of young men blowing each other’s guts out for what they thought were noble reasons. What was really happening was that the men in power were using those poor young men as their little pawns in a political struggle. I wasn’t about to die for that, but I didn’t mind making money off their war, so I robbed union   trains and stole guns from the North, then sold them to the South. Some of that led to robberies after the war ended. That’s when I fell in with Kennedy and his bunch—Confederates bent on continuing their revenge. When that’s the only kind of people you’ve ever known, Randy, you just end up in that kind of life.”

Miranda dipped a large ladle into a bucket of cool water and carried it over to the wash pan to poor it in and cool the hot water already there. “I would like to understand, Jake, I really would. Sit down here and I’ll wash your hair. Maybe at supper you can tell me more about yourself.”

He took the chair. “It would be pretty hard for a woman like you to hear it.”

“I’m stronger than you think.”

Jake put his head back. “You were telling me about yourself.”

“Nothing much more to tell.” She took the ladle and poured some of the water over his hair, letting the excess run back into the pan. She began soaping up his hair then. “Mack never came back. I married him in sixty-two, got the telegram about his death in sixty-three. He didn’t even die from a wound. He died from cholera. In sixty-four, my brother left and it was nearly a year before he bothered to write and tell us he was in Nevada. I haven’t heard from him since. That’s his picture over there on the stand by the cot.”