Amelia and the Outlaw Read online

  Amelia And The Outlaw

  Lorraine Heath

  For Aunt Tack

  with love

  Summary

  Amelia

  With a strict, eagle-eyed judge for a father and two older brothers to back him up, Amelia Harper is doted upon and protected within an inch of her life. She's not even allowed to have a sweetheart until she's seventeen, for example. Amelia longs for the day she can do as she pleases, but that day doesn't seem to be in any hurry to arrive.

  The Outlaw

  For a young fellow, Jesse Lawton has a surprisingly shady background. The only wonder is that it took him until the age of fourteen to end up in jail, so wild was the path he'd been on. But five years have passed, and his luck finally seems to have turned: he's been freed. If only he can stay on the straight and narrow...

  When Jesse arrives at the Harper ranch to work off the remainder of his sentence, it's no surprise that the judge's pretty daughter catches his eye. What he doesn't know is that this young lady is itching for excitement, and with one look into his haunted eyes, Amelia knows she's found it in Jesse. Without meaning to, Amelia forces the erstwhile outlaw into a choice between his freedom and his heart.

  Amelia told herself that anyone who committed a crime deserved harsh treatment. Still, this young man intrigued her. She wondered why he’d ridden with the notorious Nightriders gang.

  Was it the excitement? The money? The danger? Disrespect for the law?

  Certainly only someone who held no respect for the law would dare break it. Although Jesse Lawton didn’t appear to be disrespectful, she figured prison could beat respect into a mangy dog.

  But another reason for his unexpected politeness at the depot nagged at her. Perhaps someone had made a mistake. Perhaps Jesse Lawton was truly innocent.

  The outlaw sliced his gaze over to her, and trepidation slithered through her. He didn’t look at all innocent.

  He looked downright dangerous.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fort Worth, Texas

  May 1881

  The first thing Jesse Lawton noticed when the train pulled into the station was the girl standing on the platform.

  She was the prettiest thing he’d seen in five years.

  Her blond hair was tucked up neatly beneath a frilly bonnet decorated with ribbons and bows. The tiny tips of her black leather shoes peeked out from beneath the hem of her spring-green dress.

  He thought her eyes were blue, but he couldn’t be certain—not from this distance, not peering through the dirty train window.

  The girl jutted her bottom lip into a little pout that caused his insides to tighten. Her mouth reminded him of the plump strawberries he’d tasted at the beginning of a long-ago summer. He’d snitched them out of a garden that grew beside a house with gingham curtains fluttering in the windows and a white picket fence.

  He’d convinced himself the pain in his gut was a result of being hungry—not the longing for all the comforts the folks inside the house took for granted. He’d forced himself to gobble down the juicy berries and not think about soft beds or clean clothes or a warm bath.

  The girl rocked back and forth on her heels, twirling her little green reticule as if she were waiting on somebody.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her—which was a blessing. Looking at her prevented him from having to acknowledge the stares of the passengers making their way off the train. He kept his hands tucked between his thighs, so the shackles on his wrists weren’t quite as visible.

  But people noticed them anyway. He could tell when they did, because he’d hear them gasp or whisper harshly to their traveling companion that a criminal had been sitting in their midst.

  “Hey, mister, are you an outlaw?” a boy suddenly asked loudly.

  Flinching inwardly, Jesse focused his attention more intently on the girl. She was tapping her foot now, her growing impatience apparent.

  “Run along, son,” the man sitting beside him said.

  Jesse didn’t know his name. His guard hadn’t bothered with introductions when he’d slapped on the irons.

  “Is he an outlaw?” the kid asked again, his excitement echoing around the small compartment. “Is he?”

  “Used to be,” the man said. “Ain’t no more. Now he’s a prisoner of the state.”

  Jesse felt as though he’d been a prisoner of the state for most of his life. His mother had left him on somebody’s doorstep, wrapped in a tattered blanket with a note that simply said, Please love him.

  No one had bothered to comply with her request. He’d been passed around from person to person, never feeling as though anyone truly wanted him. At least not until he’d joined up with the Nightriders gang. Under the leadership of Sometimes-One-Eyed Pete, for a time, at least, he’d thought he’d discovered where he belonged.

  But the bungled bank robbery had found him sentenced to spend ten years at Huntsville Prison. He’d already survived five in that wretched hole. Now he had a chance to serve his remaining time beneath the blue Texas sky. He didn’t intend to lose this opportunity—no matter what the cost.

  The guard stood. “Let’s go, boy.”

  Jesse unfolded his body, moved into the aisle, and headed for the door. The guard trailed behind him with his rifle held at the ready in the crook of his arm. Jesse knew the man would just as soon shoot him as see him get off the train, so he kept his strides short, slow, nonthreatening.

  He walked through the door and to the steps that led to the platform. Placing one hand on the railing forced him to put both there because of the way his hands were linked together. He climbed down carefully, awkwardly.

  He didn’t dare look for the pretty girl now. He prayed she’d moved on and wouldn’t catch sight of him with the humiliating chains jangling between his wrists.

  With the butt of his rifle, the guard shoved him forward. “Keep going. Judge Harper is standing right over there.”

  Even if the guard hadn’t pointed him out, Jesse would have recognized Judge Harper. He’d lost track of the number of days that had passed since he’d been escorted to the warden’s office, where he’d met the judge for the first time.

  Judge Harper had only recently replaced Judge Gray, better known as the Hanging judge—the man who had sentenced Jesse to ten years of hard time. Jesse hadn’t been able to work up a spark of pity when word had traveled through the prison that the Hanging Judge had met his maker.

  Judge Harper had been reviewing Judge Gray’s records. Apparently the previous judge had kept detailed accounts on every criminal who’d appeared in his courtroom and every sentence he’d handed down.

  “I don’t like doubting my predecessor,” Judge Harper had said, “but I think he might have been a bit harsh when he sentenced you.”

  A bit harsh? Jesse thought that was an understatement. The man had been downright mean, with a steely glare that had made Jesse fear the Hanging Judge was going to live up to his reputation and sentence Jesse to dance in the wind from the nearest oak tree.

  “I’m not willing to commute your sentence,” Judge Harper continued, “but I’m willing to let you serve out your time under less desolate conditions.”

  So here Jesse was, his mouth suddenly as dry as a west Texas wind, walking toward the man who held his freedom in his hands. Judge Harper had looked imposing and ominous when he’d met with Jesse at Huntsville.

  He was even more so now, standing on the platform in black trousers, a black jacket, and a black hat with his dark eyes roaming over Jesse, taking in every little detail of his existence. Jesse was nearly as tall as the judge, but held under his intense scrutiny, he felt remarkably smaller.

  Judge Harper pressed his lips into a hard line of disapproval, and Jesse figured he was going t
o be getting right back on the train and heading toward Huntsville before the sun set.

  “Did he give you trouble?” Judge Harper asked.

  “No, sir,” the guard said. “I just wasn’t willing to take any chances with a convict.”

  Judge Harper narrowed his eyes, and Jesse wondered if the man was striving to search his soul.

  “Are you planning to cause any trouble?” Judge Harper asked.

  “No, sir,” Jesse answered.

  The judge nodded. “Get the shackles off him.”

  “With all due respect, Judge, if he was to escape—”

  “My boys will track him down,” Judge Harper interrupted.

  Jesse noticed the two men standing on either side of the judge. With their dark hair and similar stances, they looked enough like Judge Harper that he figured they were his sons.

  “And he’ll regret the day he was born,” Judge Harper finished.

  Jesse didn’t figure the judge or his sons could make him regret that day any more than he already did.

  He cringed when the guard inserted the key into the lock and the grinding of metal echoed around him. Anyone who hadn’t noticed his chains before was sure to notice them now. He suspected the guard deliberately made as much commotion as possible.

  As soon as the shackles fell away, Jesse dropped his arms to his sides, refusing to rub his aching wrists and give his guard any satisfaction from knowing the discomfort he’d caused. He fought to hold the judge’s gaze when he desperately wanted to look away.

  “Thanks, Thaddeus, you can go now,” the judge said to the guard.

  “But if he escapes—”

  “Are you going to try to escape?” Judge Harper asked.

  “No, sir.”

  They had a deal, and although the judge had no reason to believe otherwise, Jesse had never broken his word. Broken the law, yes, but never gone back on his word.

  The judge nodded, and Jesse almost thought he saw a softening in those dark eyes. “That’ll be all, Thaddeus.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Leaning near Jesse, the guard whispered in a low voice, “Keep your nose clean, boy. You don’t want to end up back in my prison.”

  If that wasn’t the gosh-darned truth, Jesse didn’t know what was. After the guard climbed back on the train, some of Jesse’s tension eased away.

  The judge gave Jesse another slow perusal before saying, “These are my sons. Robert and David.”

  Both men gave him a nod. Neither dared to lie and say he was pleased to meet Jesse. They appeared to be a little older than Jesse’s nineteen years.

  “We’ve got several things to discuss,” Judge Harper said, “but we can do it back at the ranch. The wagon’s over here. Amelia?”

  At the click of approaching footsteps, Jesse turned his head…and there she was, the pretty girl he’d been staring at while he’d sat on the train. His stomach dropped clear down to his boots. She’d seen him clamber down the steps, heard the awful clang of his shackles, and had to know of his crimes.

  “This is my daughter, Amelia,” the judge said.

  Up close she was even lovelier than she’d appeared from a distance. Her eyes were green, not blue. Green like a patch of clover he’d once napped in.

  He snatched his hat from his head and crushed the brim with his hands.

  “Ma’am.” His voice sounded as though he hadn’t used it in at least a dozen years.

  Her eyes twinkled and her lips curled up slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lawton.”

  Unlike her brothers, she apparently had no qualms about stretching the truth, although he had a difficult time believing a voice as lyrical as hers could ever utter a lie. She was a dainty little thing, but she also gave off an air of confidence that came from knowing she belonged.

  “I didn’t much like that guard,” she said. “He seemed mean-spirited.”

  Jesse stared at her. He’d never heard anyone except fellow prisoners say something unflattering about a guard.

  “It’s his job to be harsh,” David Harper said.

  “Otherwise convicts would be escaping all over the place.”

  “Papa’s harsh,” she said. “But he’s not mean. There’s a difference. Don’t you agree, Lawton?”

  Jesse couldn’t think of a single thing to say as she held his gaze.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she asked.

  “That’ll be enough now, Amelia,” Judge Harper said.

  “You see,” she said. “Harsh but not mean.”

  Her mouth blossomed into a smile that stole his breath as surely as he’d stolen money from a half dozen banks. He wanted to tuck that smile into his pocket so he could take it out and look at it from time to time.

  The judge cleared his throat, and Jesse dropped his gaze to his well-worn boots. He figured if the judge thought he had an interest in his daughter, he’d put him right back on the train.

  And that wouldn’t do at all. The last place Jesse ever wanted to go again was prison.

  As the wagon rumbled over the dirt road, Amelia Harper sat on the bench seat beside her father while her brothers huddled in the back with the outlaw.

  The outlaw.

  Jesse Lawton certainly didn’t look like a criminal to her. His cheeks had actually flushed when he’d removed his hat upon being introduced to her. She’d never seen a man blush before, and she’d spent time around a lot of men: her father, her brothers, and all the cowboys who worked her father’s ranch.

  But it was the outlaw’s blue eyes that had captured and held her attention. Weary. As though he’d seen too much of life and didn’t care to see much more.

  “Papa, how old did you say Jesse was?” she asked quietly, hoping the squeaking of the wagon and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves would keep her voice from traveling to the outlaw’s ears.

  “Nineteen,” her father said in an equally low voice.

  “He looks older than Robert’s twenty-four years,” she said.

  “He’s had a hard life. Judge Gray didn’t make it any easier.” He looked askance at her. “You’re not to flirt with him. He’s not one of the cowhands you can wrap around your finger.”

  Jesse had furrows in his brow, as though he worried often. He had no laugh lines around his mouth to indicate he ever smiled. Although she could well imagine he had little to smile about.

  “I simply wanted to reassure him that your bark is worse than your bite,” she explained.

  “Until I get a true measure of the young man,” her father said quietly, “let’s let him think my bite is something to worry about.”

  Most people did see her father as gruff and uncompromising. She knew it was just his way. But sometimes he could be downright intimidating.

  She stared straight ahead, picturing in her mind her first impressions of the outlaw.

  Her brothers were dressed much as her father was: neatly pressed white shirt, black jacket, black string tie, and black trousers. They represented with no mistake exactly what they were: the successful sons of a successful man.

  Jesse Lawton, on the other hand, looked as though he was a complete stranger to success.

  His clothes were bedraggled, giving the impression that someone had scrounged them out of the bottom of an abandoned box. Amelia thought the state was supposed to provide released prisoners with new clothes, but then Jesse Lawton wasn’t truly being set free.

  His britches were worn, his boots even more so. His hat looked as though it had been stuffed into a trunk somewhere. It suddenly occurred to her that it probably had been. She didn’t think they let prisoners hold on to their personal possessions.

  His hair—the black of a moonless night—was in desperate need of trimming. She was surprised to discover she had a desire to cut it, and more, she wanted to take a razor to the bristles shadowing his face. But she didn’t think either action would soften the ruggedness that seemed to be such a part of him.

  Almost as tall as her father and Robert, a little taller than David, he had wide
shoulders and a broad chest that spoke of hard labor. Yet he also possessed a wiriness that reminded her of a starving coyote she’d once seen attack the herd. His clothes fairly hung off his body as though no one had bothered to measure him before replacing his prison uniform with an outfit that would prevent him from standing out in the crowd.

  Still, he had stood out. Not so much because of the awful shackles he’d been wearing, but because of the wariness that emanated from him. As though he didn’t expect trust and wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t receive it.

  She imagined prison life wasn’t easy.

  As a matter of fact, its very harshness had haunted her father when he’d discovered that Judge Gray had sent a fourteen-year-old boy to prison. Two weeks ago her father called a family meeting to discuss his plan to put a convicted man within their midst—before he’d approached Jesse Lawton with his offer.

  He could serve his remaining five years under the judge’s supervision, working at his ranch. The labor would be as hard as or harder than the work he did in prison, but as long as he didn’t cause trouble he’d have a semblance of freedom. In five years’ time, he could go or stay. The choice would be his.

  Amelia imagined he’d hightail it to the far corners of the state faster than a cat with its tail on fire. Not that she could blame him. She knew a little about not having freedom.

  Ten days shy of seventeen, she thought she was old enough to make her own decisions, but her father seldom agreed. Since her mother had passed away when Amelia was twelve, Amelia had no other parent to appeal to. Her father’s words were the law of the family. Some principles he simply wouldn’t compromise.

  Amelia wanted to wear britches when she rode around the ranch. He insisted she wear a split skirt.

  She wanted to read dime novels; he insisted she read Shakespeare.

  She wanted a beau. He forbade her from having gentlemen callers until her birthday—as though ten more days made a world of difference between her being a girl and a young woman.

  Sighing with frustration at the reminder of her limitations, Amelia shifted her gaze back toward her father. She loved him dearly. She only wished he’d grant her as much freedom as he planned to give this outlaw. But her father was in the habit of laying down rules and having them obeyed unconditionally.