Outlaw Hearts(75)

He pulled her closer then, met her lips almost savagely, and groaned as his life finally surged into her. He stayed inside her and took her into his arms. “We’ll do it again in a minute,” he whispered. “I’ll never get enough of you, Mrs. Harkner.”

She liked the sound of that name. To others and on paper she was Mrs. Jake Turner, but in her heart she did not mind being Mrs. Jake Harkner. If not for the danger for him, she would shout it to the world.

“Once we get someplace where we have more privacy, I’ll teach you anything you want,” he was saying. Already he was beginning to move inside her again.

Miranda met his eyes and was suddenly embarrassed at what she had said earlier. “You make me feel totally wicked and daring.”

He grinned, leaning down to lick at her lips. “I want to see you and touch you and taste you all over,” he promised.

“Jake,” she whispered. Neither of them was about to let their weariness from the long, hard journey, or worry about the danger that might lie ahead interfere with this special night. It was done now. They were man and wife, and nothing could change that.

In the distant hills, the wolves continued their mournful wailing.





Twelve


October 1866

Clarence looked up and down the street to be sure none of his relatives was anywhere near. It had been easy to sneak away from his Uncle Wilbur’s tent camp. They had been in Virginia City only two weeks, and his uncles were all busy building a log church, deciding the church must come even before a cabin would be built for Aunt Opal and the children. Within the religious camp he slept alone in his father’s wagon, having taken over his father’s possessions since the man’s death from cholera in the mountains of Utah.

His eight-year-old cousin David, his uncle John, only twenty-eight, and his grandfather had also died from the dreaded disease, all before reaching the Nevada desert. The trip through the desert had been hell, and now that they had arrived at their destination, Clarence could not help wondering what kind of a God would put them through such hell when they were on their way to bring God’s teachings to others.

Not that he believed much in God anyway. He had never really considered himself a missionary, never quite understood why God was so important to some people. He had hated having to be a part of the trip, hated the boring life his uncles led, always praying and reading the Bible, never having any fun. He had come along because it was expected of him, but now that he was here and his father was dead, he was not so sure he had to remain with the family and join in all that holy stuff. He was a man now, had been for longer than any of his family knew, ever since he’d lain with that farm girl back in Missouri before they’d left. He should be old enough to make his own decisions about life and how he wanted to live it.

It seemed ever since that farm girl, his appetite for women and the inability to be with any because of his family had been near painful. He had been so sure that widow woman, Miranda Hayes, would be hurting bad enough for a man that she’d let him under her skirts; but she had surprised him. God, how he hated her for embarrassing him the way she had! He hoped she had died from that snakebite, slowly and painfully. It would serve her right for acting so uppity around him when he knew damn good and well she was hungry for a man between her legs.

He stepped up onto the boardwalk. He liked Virginia City at night. It was wild and noisy and dangerous, a place for a man to prove himself. He pushed his way past drunks, glanced into each saloon to see smoky rooms full of men gambling and drinking, painted women hanging over them. Raucous piano music and wild laughter filled the night air, along with an occasional gunshot.

He could not help wondering if these were the people his family had come to “save.” They sure didn’t seem to think they needed it. What was so bad about this life? People were dancing and laughing and drinking, having a good time. He had felt drawn to the wilder side of this town since they had first arrived, felt a keen hunger to learn about this side of life. He wanted to taste whiskey, sleep with a whore and learn about all the ways women like that had of making a man feel good. He wanted to learn how to play poker, shoot pool; wanted to taste tobacco, smoke a cheroot, roll his own cigarettes.

These were his decisions to make now, not his uncle Wilbur’s. Maybe he would find a job up at one of the mines, or working at one of these saloons. Until then, he would continue using the money he managed to steal bit by bit from his uncle, most of it from the collections the man took after giving a sermon, collections turned over to Clarence to count. And count it he did, after taking out a portion for himself. He grinned at the thought of how stupid and trusting his uncle was.