Abbie's Outlaw

He could still feel Abbie’s lips, soft and unschooled. Her breasts had been round and tipped with rosy nipples that he’d been the first man to kiss. She had explored him, too. Generous by nature, she’d been far too brave for her own good.

As for himself, he’d just been lustful. Except fifteen years had passed, and it was still Abbie’s touch he felt in dreams too personal to share. In time he’d come to believe that he loved her. John clenched the sheets until his fists ached. His thighs tensed and so did his belly. Every nerve in his body was alive and spoiling for a certain kind of fight.

It wasn’t often that John wanted a woman. He’d put that need behind him when he’d put on his black coat for the first time, and he’d kept it there by focusing on women like Emma Dray. They admired his good looks and his passion for heaven. They said his sermons were brilliant and wise and told him he was a good man.

They didn’t know him at all, but Abbie did. She knew he had bad dreams, and she’d understood when he wouldn’t talk about them. John had changed a lot over the years. He wasn’t the same kid who had seduced her, but beneath the coat he was still just a man, and a hot-blooded one at that.

Abbie had been wise to choose the fleas.

You goddamn slut!

Abbie was back in Washington, trapped in her bedroom and using her arms to protect her face from Robert’s blows. Oh, God. Oh, God. He was ripping her hands from her face, squeezing her throat and calling her unspeakable names.

“Bitch!” Only it wasn’t Robert’s voice that thundered through the boardinghouse walls.

Robbie sat up on the pallet next to her bed. “Ma? Who’s shouting?”

Abbie pushed to her feet and put on her wrapper. “I don’t know, but someone needs help.”

“No! Don’t go.”

Her son’s worry tugged at her heart, but she had been on the other side of that wall. Tying her robe, she said, “I’m going to knock on the door while you get Sally. Her room’s at the bottom of the stairs, remember?”

Robbie jumped to his feet and pulled on his clothes. As they entered the hallway, she squeezed her son’s shoulder. “You better hurry.”

After he raced down the stairs, Abbie tapped on the door next to hers. “Hello?”

When no one answered, she pressed her ear to the wood. A whimper penetrated the barrier, followed by a man’s cursing. Abbie was about to twist the knob when the door opened a crack, revealing a young woman she had met at supper. Her name was Beth and she was looking down, trying to hide her face behind a curtain of golden-brown hair.

Abbie stuck her foot in the door. “I can help you,” she whispered.

Just as Beth moved her lips to reply, someone yanked her back into the room. Shrieking, the girl tumbled to the floor as Abbie stepped over the threshold. Sweat and whiskey hung in the air as a man the size of horse grabbed Beth’s forearm and tried to haul her to her feet.

“Get up!” he ordered.

“I can’t.” Clutching her ribs, Beth slumped to the floor.

Abbie knew from experience that provoking a devil made him more violent, so she kept her voice low. “What’s your name, sir?”

He looked over his shoulder and wrinkled his brow as if her good manners had confused him. “It’s Ed.”

“Hi, Ed. I’m Abigail. Are you hungry? I bet Sally has pie and coffee downstairs.”

As he let go of Beth’s hand, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Who the hell are you?”

Abbie’s knees were knocking, but she had to keep Ed talking until help arrived. “My name’s Abbie. I’m no one.”

“Well, Miss No One. You should have minded your own business.”

Abbie prayed Ed would take the easy way out and let both women leave, but he raked her with his eyes, lingering on her breasts and her mouth. She knew all about bullies. They fed on fear, so she swallowed hers as if it were vinegar. She was about to offer to wrap Beth’s ribs when Ed curled his lips into a smirk and lifted a leather sheath off the dresser. Judging by the shape, it held a bowie knife. Weighing the threat to Beth if she ran for help, Abbie eyed the door, only to see Ed slap it shut.

Focusing on the immediate need, Abbie stepped to Beth’s side and helped her to her feet. Leering at them both, Ed unsheathed the knife and turned it back and forth in the moonlight, inspecting the blade for sharpness with his thumb. Because knives left marks that were hard to explain, Abbie felt fairly certain he didn’t intend to use it. The motion was meant to terrify them, just as Robert had terrified her with lit cigarettes.

As long as she and Beth weren’t trapped against the wall, she could buy time. Surely Sally had sent for the sheriff. But what if he wouldn’t come? What if he shrugged off a woman’s bruises as a family matter? Abbie’s shoulder throbbed with the tension. She’d been trapped in this alley before and she still bore the scars.

“Reverend!”

Jarred awake by pounding on the front door, John yanked on his clothes and jammed his feet into his boots. It had to be a stranger. People in Midas knew to come to the back door at night. As he fumbled with a button, the pounding turned into a drumbeat.

“It’s Robbie. Hurry! My ma’s in trouble.”

Not bothering to grab his coat, John raced through the house and flung open the front door. “What happened?”

“She went to help a lady who was crying because a man was yelling at her. I tried to get Sally, but she didn’t open her door.”

The argument had to be between Ed and Beth Davies. John knew that Ed’s wife had left him and moved into Sally’s place this afternoon. Ed had a vile temper, but he had never used more than his fists. Nonetheless, John grabbed the Colt Lightning he kept by the front door and jammed it into his waistband.

“Let’s go,” he said to Robbie.

Together they ran the six blocks, stormed into the boardinghouse and raced up the stairs. After a glance to be sure Abbie wasn’t in her room, John faced Robbie. “Go pound on Sally’s door until she opens it. Tell her I said to get the sheriff and the doctor.”

As Robbie raced down the hall, John sized up the sturdiness of the door. He preferred talk to violence, but Ed had proved he was hard of hearing. Wanting to keep surprise on his side, John hauled back and kicked down the door. In a blink he took in the sight of the two women pressed against the wall and Ed lunging at Abbie.

“He’s got a knife!” shrieked Beth.

As the blade glinted, John threw himself between Abbie and Ed. The blade slashed across his belly. He leaped back and aimed his gun, but Ed had already snaked his arm around Abbie’s waist and was pressing the bloody knife against her throat. In her eyes, John saw a calm so deep it chilled his blood. This wasn’t the first time she had been in danger.

Bracing against the wall, he cocked the hammer and pointed the barrel at Ed’s nose. “Tell me, Ed. Have you ever heard of ‘an eye for an eye’? It’s the surest cure for meanness I know and it’s biblical, too.”

“You son of a bitch.”

John held his pistol steady. “I don’t believe in turning the other cheek when innocent lives are at stake, but when it’s just my life, I’m a generous man. What’s it going to be, Ed? You can drop the knife or I’ll shoot.”

When Ed squinted like a rat, John decided to give him a lesson in arithmetic. “You’ve got three seconds. One…two…”

“Ah, hell.” Ed dropped the knife to the floor and sent it skittering toward John, letting go of Abbie at the same time. “No woman’s worth dying for.”

John thought Ed was dead wrong. Abbie was worth every drop of blood dripping down his side, but that was his secret to keep.

Still aiming the gun at Ed, he said, “Beth, fetch your things. Abbie, get Robbie and whatever you need for the night. You ladies are coming home with me. Ed, though, is going to jail just as soon as Sheriff Handley gets here.”

“I’m right here, Reverend.” The sheriff strode into the room with a pair of irons in hand. “I don’t tolerate men who use knives on women.”

Only their fists, John thought, but that fight had to wait for another day. Relieved to have the ordeal over, he gave Abbie a reassuring nod as she led Beth into the hallway. As soon as Handley dragged Ed out of the room, John slid down the wall until his buttocks hit the floor.

His side was starting to hurt like the devil. Sucking in a breath, he pulled his shirt out of his waistband. He’d been a fool to leave the parsonage without his coat. The wool would have offered some protection, and Ed might have thought twice about slicing up a preacher. As things stood, the gash felt deep, but it hadn’t penetrated anything vital. As long as the wound didn’t fester, he’d be fine after someone stitched him up.

John stifled a groan. He wasn’t keen on seeing Doc Randall. The old man still talked about the good old days when he’d used leeches. John was considering sewing the cut himself when Abbie hurried into the room. Still clad in her nightgown, she dropped to her knees and pressed a wadded-up petticoat against his side. Pale and soft, it reminded him of her skin.