But Miranda, she was different. For the first time in his life he had wanted to make love to a woman just to satisfy her and not himself, to comfort her, to be united in spirit besides in body, if that kind of thing was possible. He had found himself wanting to protect and defend the woman, which seemed pretty ridiculous when he considered the fact that she had shot him. Sometimes the way she looked at him, he had just wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she didn’t have to be lonely or afraid anymore.
He sat up and reached into his supplies, taking out a cigarette paper and some tobacco. He rolled himself a cigarette and pulled a slender stick from the fire, using it to light the smoke. He took a deep drag, leaning back again and studying the stars he could still see through spaces in the treetops. They were fading, as the sky to the east began to glow red from the sunrise.
Randy. The shortened form of her name sounded like a boy, but she sure didn’t look or talk like any boy. Why in hell had he been led to her house? Was there some reason for all of it? He snickered, drawing on the cigarette again. What a fool he was, contemplating what it might be like to be married to a woman like that, to bed her, protect her, provide for her. Hell, even if he seriously tried such a thing, society would never leave him alone. He would always have to worry about the law. Life could never be peaceful and happy for a man like him. Fact was, he had never known either of those pleasantries in his entire life.
“What do you think, Outlaw?” he asked the horse. “Would I have a chance with Mrs. Hayes?”
The horse snorted and shook its head, and Jake grinned, taking another drag on the cigarette. Inside he didn’t want to smile. Inside he hurt. He wanted that woman, and that was the hell of it. More than that, even if he couldn’t have her, he could not help thinking he should have seen her to Nevada. He could have at least done that much. He knew he would never have touched her if she didn’t want him to. That wasn’t why he had turned her down. He had turned her down because he was afraid of his own feelings. What if he fell in love with her, knowing such a love was impossible for her to return? He hadn’t let his feelings get to him in years, and he was not about to start now. He thought he had buried all the hurt a long time ago, with his mother and his brother, with Santana and his father. That was when he stopped feeling anything. That was when he knew a man was better off letting the hardness set in, not giving a damn about anything or anyone, including himself. A few days with Miranda Hayes had opened old wounds. She had made him talk about himself, made him remember things he would rather not think about.
It had been nice, though, in that warm little cabin, always smelled good. A man could get used to coming home to a place like that, to a woman like that. He closed his eyes, smoking quietly, listening to the owl hoot again to greet the morning. The owl’s call reminded him of the loneliness of traveling in the open. He had spent many a night camped out like this, knew the dangers involved. Miranda would be facing the same dangers on that trip west, only it would be worse for her because she was pretty and unattached.
“I should have done it, Outlaw,” he said then, thinking what a useless life he had led. He could have done one good thing for once and taken Miranda Hayes to Nevada like she asked.
Maybe he still could. He could go back and see if she had left yet. If she had, even though he would risk being seen and identified, he could go to Independence and see if he could find out who she had ended up traveling with, which route she had taken. It was dangerous for him to go to any town in Kansas or Missouri, but since when had danger bothered him any? He only knew he could not go on like this, wondering, feeling that it would be his fault if anything happened to the woman. Maybe she was still in Independence looking for a guide. Was there still time to catch up with her?
Hell, he thought, the sun would be up soon. There was no time like the present to change his mind. He took the coffeepot from where he had set it beside the fire and set it over the coals, opening the lid and pouring some water into it from a canteen. He added a few crushed coffee beans, then set a fry pan on the coals, getting some bacon from his supplies and slapping some into the pan. He had sliced the bacon from a side of ham a farmer had hanging near his smokehouse, a few miles back. Jake had stopped and asked for some of the meat, paid for it, even got the man to pack it in lard for him so it wouldn’t spoil. There was a time when he might have just held a gun on the man and demanded all the food he wanted, but since spending those few days with Randy, such notions didn’t seem right anymore. He grinned at how she would have reacted if he had stolen the meat.