The Outlaw's Wife Read online

  And now here they were, in this place that was both special and magical, and he hoped to hell he didn’t blow it.

  After lunch he took her on a quick tour of the cabin, which basically consisted of the loft above and one large great room below that served as living room, dining room and kitchen. A small but well-equipped bathroom and a dorm-style bedroom that the boys used to bunk in finished out the interior. They ended the tour on the wraparound, covered porch that offered multiple and equally breathtaking views of the valley.

  “What would you like to do? This time is yours, Em.”

  Part of his plan was for her to rest here. He couldn’t help but feel that above all else, rest was what she needed.

  “I brought books.” He rattled off a list of authors he’d known were her favorites. “And CDs.” Again he’d made his selections with special attention to her taste in music, which ranged from classical to country with some contemporary pop mixed in for good measure.

  Her smile thanked him, but her eyes were on the river. “It’s a beautiful day. I think I’d like to walk.”

  He hesitated, then finally extended another overture of reconciliation on this cautious journey they were taking. “Do you want to walk alone, or would you like some company?”

  Telling herself she’d been alone with her solitude and her thoughts for too long, Emma answered with a careful smile. “Company would be nice.”

  Cognizant of his silent support by her side, they explored the valley and the abundance of beauty it offered.

  The valley was wide here, the forest a gradually thickening border. Aspen and pines of verdant green surrounded the meadow grass and scattering of nodding wildflowers like a living framework. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d let herself enjoy something so simple as sunshine. How long it had been since she had “played” outside the boundaries of doubt and pain.

  She’d done little more than exist for the past three months. That’s all she’d had the strength to do. But today due to the most unlikely of catalysts—the man who was responsible for her little descent into the abyss—she let herself feel: the kiss of the breeze on her face; its intimate caress as it lifted and played with her hair; the warmth of the sun on her nose as she tipped her face to the sky; the rustle of limbs and pine needles snapping beneath her feet.

  Life. She’d missed it. She’d craved it.

  She let him take her hand as they climbed over a downed tree trunk. She smiled when he picked her flowers and tucked them in her hair. With gentle words and winning smiles, he shared his valley and, in the process, invited her to make it hers as well.

  He set the pace, and it was easy. Easy to claim this little pocket of heaven, easy to shut out regrets, to waylay fears. Easy to look at the man she’d fallen in love with and wish for a future as harmonious as the songs of the river and the rhythms of the wind.

  It was ironic that it was Garrett—the man who had dragged her into darkness—who offered her the light. Yet at the moment she couldn’t think of anyone else she would want to show her the way back.

  Six

  From its inception, Garrett’s strategy had been to bring her here to court her. Their afternoon together had been an encouraging start. She’d softened. She’d smiled. She’d relaxed that guarded look and lost her focus on what had gotten them to this rocky point.

  And when, toward twilight, he found her resting in a willow chair soaking up the last rays of the setting sun, he decided to slowly escalate his plan.

  “You’re looking very comfortable there, Emmy Lou. And prettier than the sunset.”

  To his delight she warmed to the mischief in his mood and conjured a little of her own. “You haven’t called me Emmy Lou since I was sixteen and you were trying to unsnap my bra in the back seat of your car.”

  He winced, both penitent and amused. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to be a little less selective with your memory.”

  The soft smile she gave him restored his faith in romance and in the pleasing power of hope.

  “Why don’t you try again, and we’ll see what happens .”

  He eased a hip onto the porch rail. The sun was warm on his back. It painted a rosy blush on her cheeks, sent a slow-moving river of desire coursing through him. “Do you remember the first time I asked you to go out with me?”

  She settled back, looking both comfy and coy as she laced her fingers over her middle. “I don’t remember you asking, exactly. If I recall, it was more like, ‘There’s a good movie playing downtown. You could go with me if you want to.”’

  He dropped his chin to his chest and groaned. “The last of the great romantics.”

  She shrugged, her wistful look telling him she was sifting through a few memories of her own. “You didn’t do so bad. I remember you held the theater door open for me. I thought that was pretty romantic.”

  He grunted. “Much as I hate to admit it, that probably had more to do with fear than romance—if I hadn’t minded my manners and one of my mother’s friends had seen me, it would have gotten back to her. It always did. And she’d have hung me out to dry.”

  “Ah, so you were only playing the role of a gentleman.”

  “To win that slow Southern smile? Absolutely. At first, anyway.” Charmed by the smile in question, he held her gaze. “But then—then there was just something about you that made me want to do things for you. Open doors, buy you flowers...leap tall buildings with a single bound.”

  She rose to stand beside him at the railing. “Which, according to half the girls in the senior class, you could have done if you’d put your mind to it.”

  He tried one of Jesse’s “aw shucks” grins.

  “A lowly little underclassman like me just went all atwitter every time you shot me one of those ‘Hey, baby’ smiles.”

  ‘“Hey baby’ smiles?” He shuddered. “This is getting painful. What a jerk. Why did you even go out with me?”

  It was her turn to grin. “It was the movie. I’d been wanting to see it all summer.”

  He nodded sagely. “Obviously it wasn’t my irrepressible charm.”

  “Oh, you had plenty of that, too—when you weren’t practicing your machismo.”

  She eased a hip onto the rail, clearly enjoying his discomfort and the playful stroll down memory lane. “And then there was your other smile—the one you hadn’t perfected as a come-on. Yes,” she said, her eyes softening when his mouth twitched at the corners. “That’s the one. That’s the smile that talked me into saying yes.”

  His eyes met hers with gentle entreaty. “What do you think the chances are of it working again—tonight?”

  A sudden unease strung the tension back in her shoulders. He understood that. She thought he was asking for more. And he wanted to. But it was too soon. On that, he wanted to be clear.

  “We’re starting over, remember? From square one. All I want is a date. And this time I’m asking. Would you like to go to a movie with me tonight, Emma DuPree?”

  Visibly relaxing, she shot a cursory glance over the valley, the abundance of trees, the total lack of civilization. “A movie? And just exactly where would we find a movie playing out here?”

  “That’s where a little bit of faith comes in,” he murmured and extended his hand. “Trust me.”

  Her hesitation was brief and, he thought, telling when she placed her hand in his. He squeezed her fingers.

  Little by little she was letting herself trust him again. Little by little he was going to reward that trust with truths.

  “The lady wants to see a movie—I’m taking her to a movie. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Garrett and Logan had made no less than ten trips up and down the mountain on horseback preparing for this week. They’d lugged food and wine and gas for the generator. Garrett had personally wrestled with the books, the CD player and finally the TV/VCR combo he’d almost lost to a large boulder and a skittish mare. But the effort had been worth every bone-jarring, vertebrae-crunching ride, he decided
when he led her into the cabin a few minutes later.

  Her wondrous smile said it all. It also asked and answered the question hovering in her eyes. Yes. He’d done it for her. And he’d do it again in a heartbeat to see that look on her face.

  Settling her onto the sofa, he loaded her down with popcorn, soda, and an outrageous assortment of movie theater candy.

  “Now this definitely rings a few bells.” Balancing her soda between her knees, she worked on the box of Milk Duds he’d asked her to open. “You bought all of this stuff on our first date, too.”

  “Because I wanted to impress you.”

  “And here I thought you were just a glutton.”

  He let out a long puff of air. “I was missing on every cylinder, wasn’t I?”

  “Not missing, exactly.” Her brown eyes teased and tantalized. “Just misfiring a little. I thought it was cute.”

  “And I thought you smelled sweeter than any flower.”

  She laughed, a carefree spontaneous sound as she wrestled with the big bowl of buttery popcorn and finally settled for setting it on her lap.

  “That’s because you were used to locker-room smells. And because I’d been so nervous I’d spilled half a bottle of Gardenia on my sweater. I didn’t think I was ever going to get the smell out.”

  “Your sweater,” he echoed, lost in a young man’s dream of perfection as the opening credits rolled. “You were something in that sweater. Do you know how many times I ‘accidentally’ brushed your breast with my arm on the pretense of reaching for the popcorn?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  When he slumped down farther in the sofa, she laughed.

  “This is such a comedown—to find out all my smooth moves were as transparent as—Em?” He broke off when she became suddenly still. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” He followed the track of her gaze to the TV/VCR where the tape was rolling.

  “How did you find this movie?” Her expression was soft, her eyes tender as she turned to him. “I...didn’t think you remembered. I didn’t think you liked it.”

  “What I liked was being with you. And how could I not remember? It’s your favorite.”

  Emma couldn’t say anything. Didn’t trust herself to. His thoughtfulness was touching. The lengths he’d gone to, to find the movie, to set the mood, sparked all kinds of sensations. Her chest felt heavy and full. Her heart picked up an extra beat then steadied into a slow, rich rhythm.

  She was so taken with the movie, so taken with him, that she let him transport her there—to that place in the past when their love was young and thrilling and new.

  The transition was easy. He made it so as they sat side by side, almost touching, tingling with the need to touch.

  He reached for the popcorn the same time she did. Their fingers bumped, brushed, drew slowly apart. Delicious little sparks, as electric and vibrant as the first time, left them wanting and wondering about more.

  For long moments they watched the movie in silence. For longer moments she wondered when he’d make his move. And just like on that first date all those years ago, she wondered what she’d do when he did.

  The anticipation built until she was aware of every breath he drew, of every subtle shift of his hip, the evenness of his breath in the darkness, the dark, musky scent of his skin.

  She wanted to laugh at herself for her sophomoric expectancy. She wasn’t a young girl, curious for the first taste of his lips. She was a woman who had known the wonder of this man’s kisses. Yet it was that knowledge that made the anticipation so sweet. And so dangerously alluring.

  When he finally raised his arms over his head in the pretense of a stretch, she almost bolted off the sofa. She answered his questioning frown with a self-conscious smile and a slight shake of her head.

  “If I remember right,” he whispered, stirring the fine hair at her temple and firing the pulse at her throat, “the old move starts out something like this.”

  With a great show of nonchalance, he carefully lowered his arm across the back of the sofa.

  “Step two,” he continued, smoothing the edge of expectancy with a slow smile, “strategically, and so slowly so as not to be noticed, the arm descends down the back of the seat until...”

  “Until?” she prompted, a little breathless, a little giddy when he paused dramatically.

  “Until—and this is the part where the real finesse comes in—it’s time to engage the decoy.”

  “Decoy?” Even his grin couldn’t dull the sharpness of the sexual tension his nearness created.

  “An innocent smile—” he demonstrated engagingly “—a subtle lean toward the popcorn—” again, he acted out his steps “—and by the time the lean is over, the arm is firmly settled on unsuspecting shoulders.”

  Even as she tried to match his playful smile, her voice went rusty and low. “Quite a maneuver. I...I had no idea of the tactical expertise required.”

  His gaze drifted to her mouth, lingered. “Very technical choreography.”

  Whatever lightness left in the moment was lost, steamrollered into nonexistence by a delicious, aching expectancy. Another mood, rimmed with sexual tension, brimming with awareness of their nearness, resurfaced and edged it out. He wanted to kiss her. And if he tried, she knew she would let him.

  Her breath shimmered out. Her heart, already in jeopardy of overload, picked up an extra beat. And beside her, his blue eyes turned dark and dangerous.

  He leaned toward her, cupped her jaw in his hand and, at the last moment, wrenched his attention back to the movie.

  Several moments passed before she realized she was holding her breath—several more before she managed to let it out. More still before she could establish a pattern of breaths she didn’t have to think about.

  She wasn’t sure if she’d just been rescued from a dangerous fall, or left dangling by her fingernails from the edge of a mile high cliff.

  With great difficulty she tried to follow his lead. She tried to relax. She even tried to be grateful for his restraint, but frustration blended with disappointment just the same.

  It was later—much later—when a smile finally crept up on her. He truly was an outlaw—and he’d accomplished exactly what he’d set out to do. His arm was quite naturally draped over her shoulders—and she was snuggled easily against his warmth.

  “This is nice,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to her hair.

  “Yes,” she echoed, steeped again in the easy mood he’d created. “This is very nice.”

  By the time the final credits rolled, they’d polished off the popcorn and even a little of the candy. And the simple act of sharing a movie together in the dark had taken them a long way toward renewing the bond that had once held them together.

  Like on their first date, Emma found herself wishing the night would never end. But like all good things, it had to.

  She sensed his reluctance, too, when he rose, then held out his hand to help her up.

  There were less than ten steps from the sofa to the loft stairs. She counted every one, as with their hands linked, he slowly led her there.

  “Do you remember how we ended our first date?” His question came out on a gruff whisper as he urged her up to the bottom step so their eyes were on a level.

  “I remember everything about it,” she answered with the same husky resonance.

  “My heart beat then just like it’s beating now.” He brought her hand to his chest, held it there.

  Beneath her palm, his pulse hammered hard and full and heavy.

  His excitement made her breathless. “Mine, too.”

  Silence whispered, time ceased as his blue eyes held hers captive in the moment and the memories.

  “Can I kiss you, Em? Like I did that night in the moonlight on your front porch?”

  She blinked once, slowly, then with rapt fascination, averted her gaze to the pulse that raced at his throat. “I don’t remember this part.”

  He settled his hands at her waist,
coaxed with a caress. “What part don’t you remember?”

  His voice flowed over her like warmed wine. Inside, she felt liquid and light-headed, steeped in longing. “The part where you asked if you could kiss me.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I was younger then. I took what I wanted.”

  Her breath, along with her better judgment, feathered out on a shivery sigh. “What do you want now, Garrett?”

  A groan came from deep in his chest as he pulled her flush against him. “This. I want this.”

  What he wanted wasn’t the chaste, tentative kiss of a schoolgirl. What he wanted was the rich, drugging kiss of a woman. She offered it to him. And he took it, Without hesitation. With hunger and need.

  But still, she sensed his restraint. She could feel it in the tensile strength of the arms he wrapped around her. She could taste it in the way he covered her mouth with his and trembled with the wanting to ravage her.

  She let herself go with it. Let herself feel the steel of his arms, the heat of his big body. And she reveled in the depth of his desire.

  They were both breathless when he pulled away. Both poised on the edge of wanting to take the kiss to another level. And she might have let it happen if he hadn’t set her away with unsteady hands and a grim resolve.

  His eyes had darkened to midnight. “Good night, Em.”

  It was almost painful to see him that way. His control was a fluid thing—she sensed she could snap it with one word. One touch.

  The jolt of power she felt in that moment was frightening and humbling—and empowering. She had to digest that. Assess it before she would know what to do with it

  “Good night, Garrett.” Her voice, though a whisper, fractured the silence and the building tension.

  “Sweet dreams.” He trailed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “In the morning,” she echoed, and watched him cross the room and slip outside into the night.