The Outlaw's Bride

“If you knew I would come,” she murmured, “why did you tell me to stay at Patrоn’s house?”

“I’m supposed to protect you, remember?” he said. Though color was slowly returning to her face, she was breathing as if she had seen a ghost. Noah battled the urge to take her in his arms. “Did Snake Jackson and his boys see you?”

“Only Snake. Do the others know they’re in town?”

“Not yet.” He jutted his chin at the boisterous group. “They’re squabbling over how to counter Dolan’s latest move. Sheriff Brady appointed Dr. Appel from Fort Stanton to perform a postmortem on Tunstall’s body. Appel’s a Dolan man. He’ll support the posse’s claim that Tunstall fired first.”

She frowned. “Then I must give my testimony now.”

“No.” He caught her hand, drawing her closer. “Don’t say anything, Isobel. Stay out of it.”

“Did you send a telegram to Santa Fe?”

“Yes.”

“You know I won’t go until I find my father’s killer.”

“If things blow here, you’ll need a place to run. Tunstall’s men are bent on revenge. Dolan’s gang will do anything for him.”

Noah made a place for her on the sill. He couldn’t tell if the woman was terrified or exhilarated by her second brush with danger. Her hazel eyes had gone green in the firelit room. Strands of hair brushed the arch of her brows. That button she was fooling with had dropped off, and he could see the creamy curve of her throat.

Looking away quickly, he ran his thumb and forefinger around the brim of his hat. Isobel could get herself shot by Snake Jackson. The man had a reputation for killing—he and Billy the Kid over there.

Isobel was staring at her knotted fingers, and he remembered how they had felt sliding tentatively up his back when he was kissing her. That kiss was a big mistake.

Noah shut his eyes, recalling the transformation of Isobel’s face from anger to hesitation to pleasure as she had rolled up her sleeves and dipped her arms into warm, soapy water. She had chattered the whole time—something about a horse she’d owned back in Spain. She’d talked on and on, unaware of the tingle that shot up his arm every time she handed him a dish and her wet fingers touched his.

The kiss had come from that, from the way she had gotten inside his mind. And now here she was beside him, her lips still beckoning. Even worse, he was beginning to care what happened to the se?orita.

“Salir de Mаlaga para entrar en Malagоn,” she said with a sudden smile. “It’s like when you say, ‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire.’ My father used to shake his finger and call me la alborotadora, the troublemaker, of my family.”

“Now you tell me.” Noah shook his head. “Well, Miss Troublemaker, Snake Jackson’s in town, which means the constable hasn’t been able to serve the warrant. He’ll be at Jimmie Dolan’s house cooking up a plan. If we’re smart, we’ll lie low the next few days and then head for Chisum’s place.”

“Will you ask Se?or Patrоn about his father’s murder?”

Noah stood and took her arm. “Let’s head back to the house. Patrоn will go with us. I’ll ask him then.”

They started across the room, and Noah lifted her shawl from the floor where she had dropped it. As he drew it over her shoulders, she leaned against him. It was all he could do to keep from catching her up in his arms right then and there. A kiss…just one more…and surely his craving would be satisfied.

As they passed the throng of arguing men, he realized Patrоn had gotten into the thick of the debate, his face red above his collar and his shouts adding to the chaos in the room. Noah was about to suggest they talk to him later when Isobel slipped away from him and pushed through the crowd.

At the appearance of a woman in their midst, the men around the table fell silent.

“Excuse me,” she began. “My husband and I wish to return to the home of our host. Mr. Patrоn?”

“Se?ora Buchanan,” Patrоn spoke up, “forgive my rudeness. Mr. McSween has been kind enough to let us gather in his home to discuss the situation.”

Noah studied Alexander McSween. No older than thirty-five, the lawyer wore a drooping mustache that hung even with his chin. His tailored suit, polished boots and pocket watch set him apart from his colleagues. Noah had little doubt he was unarmed.

“A doctor has been bribed to perform the postmortem,” Patrоn continued. “We must find a way to avert this injustice. Dick Brewer and Billy Bonney do not agree. Dr. Ealy and I—”

“Dr. Ealy?” Isobel lifted her eyebrows as if she had never seen the man who had ridden across half the New Mexico Territory with her. “Are you a medical doctor, sir?”

Dr. Ealy gave an uncomfortable cough. “I am.”

“Then two doctors must perform the postmortem,” she declared. “Or Dr. Ealy might help with the embalming. It cannot be difficult to record the truth.”

The men gawked in silence until Dick Brewer finally spoke up. “She’s right, fellers. Doc Ealy, we’ll make sure you help with the postmortem—if you don’t mind. Thank you, Mrs. Buchanan.”

Isobel tilted her head. “You may call me Belle.”

As the sea of men parted to let Isobel through, Billy Bonney called to Noah. “Hey, Buchanan, you bringin’ your pretty wife to McSween’s fandango Saturday night?”

Noah’s blue eyes flicked toward Isobel. “We’ll see. I want to get on over to Chisum’s place.”

“Come on, Buchanan! I deserve at least one dance with the lovely lady. You may be faster on the draw than me, but I guarantee I’m the best dancer in town.”

“You’ve got the biggest mouth in Lincoln County, that’s for sure.” Noah shifted his attention as Juan and Isobel joined him. “Hey, Dick. Come here a minute.”

The young foreman detached himself from the group. As he neared, Susan Gates emerged from the shadows of a back room. Clutching her skirts in her hands, she rushed toward Isobel.

“Susan!” Isobel caught her friend. “Susan, what’s wrong?”

“You know this woman?” Patrоn asked, his brow drawn into a furrow.

“I’ll explain later,” Noah said. “Miss Gates, meet Juan Patrоn. Looks like you already know Dick.”

Susan gave Juan a polite nod, but when she looked into Dick Brewer’s eyes, a pink flush spread across her cheeks. Noah’s friend and the schoolteacher had met only the day before, Isobel realized, but there was an obvious attraction between them.

She wondered if anyone saw such a spark between Noah and herself. Surely not. After all, Noah was just her protector. He cared nothing for her. And she had no more feeling for him than she might for a loyal stable-hand at her family’s hacienda.

While he informed the men that Snake Jackson and the posse were in town, Isobel and her friend stepped aside.

“You’ve lost a button,” Susan said. “My dress doesn’t fit you well. Why don’t we buy some fabric at Tunstall’s store? I’ll sew a new dress for you. Isobel?”

“That cowboy is looking at you, Susan.” She maneuvered her friend away from Dick Brewer’s line of focus. “Stay away from him. He is in the midst of the trouble.”

Susan glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t you think he’s terribly handsome?”

Isobel shrugged. She preferred a man with a stronger frame, with broad shoulders and hands that could bring down a steer. She preferred a man whose face bore the weathering of life, who had seen good and evil—and who knew to choose the good. She preferred—

“Noah!” she gasped as he caught her around the waist.

“Let’s get out of here,” he growled against her ear. “This place is a powder keg.”

As he led them away, Isobel turned and caught her friend’s hands. “Don’t let any man capture your heart, Susan,” she said softly. “Never let anyone take away your dreams.”

“Oh, Isobel, I…”