Outlaw Hearts(98)

“Then who? The law wouldn’t bother tracking you all the way from Missouri.”

“Probably not. But I know somebody who would, and if he gets even the slightest taste of my trail, he won’t quit.”

“Bill Kennedy?”

Jake sighed. “I hope you never meet him, not just because of what he’d do if he found us, but because you’d see even clearer just what kind of man I used to be.”

She quelled the hint of fear he had stirred in her soul. “Jake, Sheriff McCleave told me clear back in Kansas that Kennedy and his men had gone on to Indian Territory to try to find you. There is no way they would ever track you back to the Oregon Trail and clear out here.”

“He’s one of the best trackers I know, him and Juan Hidalgo.” He picked up the reins to the mules that pulled the wagon. “I don’t want to upset you. I wasn’t worried in Virginia City, because I knew if they did track us, they’d have a late start and probably get stranded by winter; but part of the reason I wanted to get the hell out of Nevada as soon as you could travel was to stay as far ahead of him as I could, if he’s even following us at all. I knew once we got here we’d be almost impossible to find, especially if I hang up my guns and lay low so I don’t draw any attention to myself. Maybe I should change my name again.”

“But the baby’s last name is Turner.”

He took the cigar from his mouth. “He’ll never know the difference. How about Logan? John Logan?”

“Jake, I don’t want to—”

“You don’t know what they’re like, Randy! Now more than ever I want a peaceful life, a nice place for you and Lloyd. I never thought too much about Kennedy and his bunch till Lloyd was born. Then I knew I wanted to make it as good for the both of you as I can, take no chances. Kennedy carries a mighty grudge. It never mattered to me when I was on my own. I still don’t care just for myself, but if they ever got hold of you and Lloyd.” He looked away. “We’re heading south, and we’re changing our name again. Our last name is Logan, understand?”

She put a hand on his knee, knowing the pain he suffered at thinking he might be the cause of harm coming to them. “All right. But we might as well keep the first name Jake. I’m so used to calling you that, I’d probably slip up and cause more attention than if we just keep your right name.”

“Fine. It’s Jake Logan then.” He put the cigar back in his mouth and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Randy. Maybe I’m just getting too anxious about the whole thing. Here in California, farther south in the valley somewhere, we can be lost to the rest of the world.”

“We’ll settle wherever you want, Jake. All that matters is that we’re together.”

Jake moved his arm to rub at her back. “I love you. I’ll get you settled soon and there won’t be any more of this living out of a wagon, I promise.” He kicked off the brake, flicking the reins and shouting at the mules to get moving. He headed the wagon down the hill, Outlaw and the packhorse following. As soon as they reached the valley, he headed south.





Sixteen


September 1869

Jake came inside for lunch, hanging his hat on a hook near the door. He had left his boots just outside, not wanting to dirty the bright braided rugs Miranda had so painstakingly made herself to decorate their three-room log home.

He smiled at the thought of how good life was here in California. The main room of their house, which he had built with his own hands, along with help from generous neighbors, was large and pleasant, with several windows to let in the California sunshine. Lace curtains graced the windows, and a huge stone fireplace took over one whole wall at the kitchen end of the room. It wasn’t needed often for cooking, since he had bought Miranda an iron, coal-burning cookstove, which was her pride and joy.

The other two rooms were bedrooms, one for them, the other for two-year-old Lloyd, who was taking a nap. Miranda greeted him with a smile and told him lunch was nearly ready, and he watched her pop a loaf of fresh-baked bread from its pan. She was wearing that yellow dress he liked. She hadn’t worn it for a long time. He remembered the first time he saw her in it, when she first started making him think maybe he wanted to change his life.

“That foal is doing great,” he told her. “I’ll have a good herd to show that buyer who comes to the fair every year. We ought to make some good money, besides the profit we made on the feed corn and the onions. By next year we’ll have to hire help. The grapes will start to produce enough by next year to ship to market in San Diego.”