Outlaw Moon Page 2

  Midnight’s face was so close Jack could see the stage makeup beading on his forehead and a few pock marks beneath his blond goatee. Not an inspiring sight. But when he detected a flicker in those watery blue eyes, Rafferty knew he’d pushed far enough. It was time to go, before this man, too, recognized him as the subject of some incriminating poster art.

  “I’ll be on my way now,” he said in a terse whisper. “Not because you say so, but because—well, Miss LaBelle might get some wild-hair idea about—”

  “Jack! Mr. Rafferty, wait up!” an excited voice called from across the fairgrounds.

  Rafferty’s heart kicked at his stomach. Not only was Amber running toward them as fast as her calico costume allowed, but she was calling out a name she’d obviously read on the Wanted posters: he’d made a point of remaining anonymous in her tent. He glanced at Midnight’s face to see if the cocky little showman realized who he was, but all he read in Gideon’s tight smile was irritation . . . and arousal. Jack knew he’d already stolen one kiss too many from the object of Gideon Midnight’s desire—he should get the hell out of here, before anyone in the crowd that was now leaving the arena caught his name.

  “What a wonderful dog you have!” Amber gushed. “What’s her name? She was the star of the range wars!”

  “Maudie tends to jump right into things,” he replied with a proud grin. “We were just leaving, before she gets any more ideas about disrupting your show.”

  “But she was perfect!” Miss LaBelle turned her sparkling brown eyes on Midnight and then grabbed his hands. “What do you say, Gideon? Can’t they at least finish out this Omaha engagement? Why, the crowd went wild over her, and since our two stock tenders ran off in Leavenworth—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “—surely Mr. Rafferty could fill in,” she continued in a low, melodious voice. “And—and besides keeping the coyotes away from the sheep at night, I bet Maudie would do fine in other parts of the show, as well!”

  “I said no,” Gideon snapped, but he was falling under the spell of the lovely young lady who was grasping his hands, imploring him so earnestly. Amber’s red calico bonnet had fallen back over her neck, and the starlit night lent her an allure that any man would have trouble resisting.

  And then she turned those doelike eyes on Jack, as though concocting some mischievous conspiracy. “What else can your dog do? I bet she knows a lot of tricks—”

  “That’s quite enough, Amber,” Gideon cut in. “I should be over there greeting my audience—”

  “Can you speak, girl?” the impish woman asked.

  Woof! Maude replied crisply.

  “And will you shake my hand?”

  The dog’s eagerly-offered paw made Amber laugh with delight, and Rafferty heard a devilish little voice in his mind telling him to play along—just for the pleasure of making Midnight squirm again. Just to see this fortuneteller’s eyes sparkle once more before he left.

  “Actually, Maudie’s specialty is song and dance,” he said as he pulled his harmonica from his shirt pocket. “Shall we do ‘Swannee River’ or ‘Clementine,’ girl?”

  Yap, yap.

  “All right, number two it is.”

  Jack raised the instrument to his lips and played a few bars of introduction as his black and white dog rose up on her hind legs, awaiting the proper cue. Precisely when the verse began, Maude stepped to the music, holding her two front paws daintily in front of her as she circled around him. He in turn moved in the opposite direction, like a slow do-si-do of a square dance, trying not to grin as he played. Midnight was awed in spite of his determination not to be, and Amber’s excitement lit up her whole face.

  But they hadn’t seen anything yet! As Rafferty began the chorus to “Clementine,” Maude lifted her head and belted out yip, yip-YOWWW. . . yip, yip-YOWWW. . . yip, yip-YOWWW, as though singing the words to the well-known song.

  The palm reader’s giggle made his heart spin, and when he heard her clap to the beat, Rafferty closed his eyes and proudly played another chorus.

  “Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’ Clementine,” Amber sang—which made Maudie howl all the louder along with her words.

  And then he realized that other hands were clapping along! Jack stared at the group of onlookers that had gathered behind Gideon, warmed by their smiles yet suddenly aware that this display of his pet’s talents was backfiring. He brought the song to an end and was greeted with loud applause. “Thanks, folks, but we really must be going.”

  “Nonsense!” Amber cried, and then she glanced eagerly around the crowd. “Wouldn’t you love to see more? Wouldn’t you come back for tomorrow’s show if you knew Maudie had her own act?”

  The applause immediately got louder while whistles and cheers rang out, and the calico-clad lady looked triumphantly at her manager. “What’d I tell you? It’s just what the performance needs—not to mention a guaranteed raise in ticket sales,” she added in a lower voice. “Don’t let your pig-headedness stand in the way of clearing a profit!”

  Gideon shot her a warning glance, but to the exuberant crowd around him, he was all smiles. He raised his arms, the fringe of his white buckskins shimmying as he spoke over their applause. “Tomorrow, then— and for the rest of our week here at these magnificent Omaha fairgrounds!” he sang out. “I’m sure Maude has more wonderful surprises for us, and you’ll have to come see her talents for yourself—and bring your friends! Meanwhile, our food wagons and feats of amazement and amusement are yours to enjoy for the rest of the evening!”

  Jack was so flustered he couldn’t blow the spit from his harmonica. A little pay would come in handy, but he’d never intended to be showcased in such a public place! And when the crowd broke up, the star of Gideon Midnight’s Authentic Wild West Extravaganza was quick to show his own misgivings.

  “Are you two happy?” he rasped, so agitated the sides of his mustache were aquiver. “Now get to your tent, Amber. We’ll talk later. And you, Mr. Rafferty, had better understand that if any of my stock disappears this week, or if that dog fails to perform in the ring, you’re out, without pay! And just because there’s two of you does not mean you collect double!”

  “If you want us to leave now, I’ll—”

  “Set foot off these fairgrounds and I’ll have every lawman in Omaha after you!” Gideon sputtered. “I know what you are, Rafferty, and I do not tolerate troublemakers and shiftless cowboys who—”

  “Unless they make you some money.”

  Midnight pivoted to glare at his fortuneteller. “I sent you to your tent, Miss LaBelle. Now scoot!”

  The pitch of the little man’s voice was climbing, and Jack could almost chuckle at this little tantrum—but only because he sensed Midnight didn’t really know who he was. Amber’s sly wink before she swayed toward her tent was an open invitation to fluster Gideon further, but he wasn’t fool enough to take her up on it.

  “If it’s all right by you, I’ll water your animals, and Maudie and I can bunk out by the pens, to guard against coyotes,” he said quietly. “I didn’t put on that little show to get hired—I’m just proud of my dog. And come the end of the week, I’ll be gone. But meanwhile, I don’t want you yapping about how I conduct myself, or what sort of riffraff I am. I can do serious damage to that pretty face of yours if I get riled up. You hear what I’m saying?”

  Gideon bristled. “Your threats don’t scare me, Rafferty.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Jack continued as he reached into his pocket for his tobacco and matches. “Since you and all your performers have stage names, I think it’s a real good idea for me, too. Tell your announcer I’m . . . Rafe Jackson, and this is Maudie the Wonder Dog.”

  “Heck, she’s no more than an ordinary—”

  “Not only do you cuss like somebody’s grandmother, but you don’t hear so good!” Stepping closer to the little man in white, Jack struck his match against Gideon’s tie clasp, just to watch him jump. “Maudie the Wonder Dog takes part in the pageant
, as well as having her own act near the first of the show—I’ll give your band director some songs to choose from. And because of the crowd she’ll draw, she gets ten percent of the take, each night as you count it.”

  “That’s robbery! I’ll do no such—”

  “And if you try to eliminate our pay by eliminating her, you’re a dead man,” he concluded matter-of-factly. “The last coward who hurt one of my dogs is roasting in hell right now. He’d have a fine time sticking his pitchfork up your ass, understand me?”

  Midnight blustered something under his breath and stalked off toward the tents, where the sing-song of the barkers rang out above a reedy tune played upon the carnival’s calliope. Rafferty didn’t usually resort to threats—just as he hadn’t killed the bastard who did in his other dog—but if he didn’t speak in terms Gideon Midnight clearly understood, the little nuisance would be buzzing around him like a gnat until next Saturday night.

  He rolled his smoke and took a long drag on it. While he was in the mood for setting people straight, there was a certain palm reader who needed an earful, too.

  “Come on, Maudie,” he said as he started toward the line of canvas tents. “But you let me do the talking, you hear?”

  Chapter 3

  Amber was waiting, her slender hands clasped demurely atop her table while her eyes danced at the sight of him. She’d knotted her scarf in a band so her coarsely-curled chestnut hair hung freely about her shoulders, lending her a wanton air Jack knew better than to fall for.

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked as he lowered himself into the chair across from her.

  “Maybe I like your looks.”

  “That’s not the tune you were singing when I came in here last time.”

  “Maybe I changed my mind,” she replied with a coy shrug. “Women do that, you know.”

  Rafferty sensed he’d learn very little from this young lady until he got beyond her flirtatious banter, yet he didn’t feel like pushing it. He’d gone a long time without holding a real conversation with anyone, let alone with an intoxicating, whiskey-skinned gypsy who seemed so intent on talking to him. “So how’d you know my name?”

  Her smile was secretive. “The snake charmer and I went into town and saw the posters. When you work for the likes of Gideon and these other swindlers, it’s nice to gawk at a picture of a real man once in a while.” Amber studied him closely, noting the masculine shadow along his jaw and the lean, hungry strength evident in shoulders that stretched his chambray shirt. “Not much chance of you getting recognized now, though. Your longer hair and that wicked mustache change your looks enough that no woman in her right mind would turn you in.”

  “What about Gideon?”

  She laughed abruptly. “Midnight’s too wrapped up in himself and his pretty clothes to care what crimes you’ve committed, if you can turn him a profit. What are you wanted for, anyway? Can’t be murder, like the poster said.”

  “Yep,” Jack stated, deciding that this was his chance to dissuade her from cozying up to him. “I put a knife through a whore’s heart, awhile back in Dodge. Been hiding out ever since.”

  Amber heard the sharp, warning edge in his voice but she didn’t believe him. Hardened criminals passed through her tent every night—some of them wearing the fancy suits and starched shirts of respected businessmen—but Jack Rafferty didn’t fit the pattern. Any man who took such pride and joy in his dog, and who stood up to Gideon’s bluster so diplomatically, and who kissed like . . . well, she would not be intimidated by those piercing brown eyes!

  But he had his reasons for scaring her off, and as Amber took his hand between hers she was determined to figure out the mysterious man who’d made such an explosive entrance earlier this evening. “Let’s take up where we left off,” she crooned, caressing his long, bronzed fingers. “Cross my palm with silver, Rafferty, and Madame LaBelle will give you an amazingly accurate picture of yourself. Perhaps a peek into your future, too.”

  Jack laughed. “You expect me to pay you for this nonsense?”

  “The visions come to me more clearly when money’s involved, yes. And it keeps Midnight off my back.”

  Shaking his head, Rafferty reached into his pocket and then tossed a coin onto the table. No harm in humoring her; she had to earn a living somehow. And the way her fingertips lingered over his knuckles and followed the hollow around his thumb and wrist, while a dreamlike expression overtook her candlelit face . . . well, it was the most seductive thing he’d ever watched. Certainly safer than cavorting with whores.

  “You have marvelous hands,” Amber breathed, enthralled by the corded, leathery strength above his wrist—such a contrast to his palms, which were as soft as baby-pink silk. “A man’s hands tell on him, you know. I could guess you were a preacher or a gambler, but you don’t impress me as a man who totes a Bible or cheats people for a living.”

  Rafferty chuckled. “I’ve got you there, honey, because I do carry the Good Book—and my very life’s a gamble. But not in the way you mean,” he conceded, hoping he hadn’t spoiled her mystical frame of mind. Amber’s face was alight with curiosity, her eyes closed so her long lashes fluttered above her cheeks, and it was a sight he could easily gaze at all night long. Her fingers moved ceaselessly over his, a soft, erotic caress that stirred a hunger deep within him.

  “All right then,” she said in a teasing voice, opening her eyes to emphasize her point, “you’re a sheep-herder. Aren’t you?”

  Jack’s jaw dropped. “How the hell’d you know that?”

  Her chuckle was low and evasive. It only made sense, after watching his dog perform in the pageant— but she wasn’t about to remind Rafferty of that. “Sheepmen have a special aura about them,” she explained quietly. “Just as the lanolin from working with the wool softens their strong, rugged hands, the occupation itself defines them as gentle, caring, watchful men . . . men who disguise their deepest emotions with an outer shell that can be as tough as a turtle’s, so other men won’t consider them sissies.”

  Rafferty nearly choked on this last observation, and he’d known a few herders who’d never in a million years fit her idealistic description. But he was too enthralled by Miss LaBelle’s sensuous patter to disagree with her.

  “I could tell you that your long, curving heart line indicates a romantic who will marry above his status and place his mate on a pedestal,” she continued as she stroked the top wrinkle that crossed his palm. “Or I could say that because your lifeline curves this widely around the base of your thumb, you show strength and a penchant for adventure, and you’ll enjoy a long, passionate love life. But you’re not the type to believe in all that, so I’ll just tell you what I feel.”

  Jack cleared his throat, totally taken in by her mesmerizing voice. Sure, this all sounded like a ploy to lure him into her bed—probably after crossing her palm with more silver—yet as she concentrated so intently upon him, probing his gaze and exploring his hand with her thoroughly intoxicating touch, he wasn’t about to stop her. Miss LaBelle seemed to be in a trance as much as he was, and he found himself holding his breath, awaiting her final assessment.

  Amber sighed deeply. “You’re running for the wrong reason, Jack. The only crime you’ve committed is against yourself... by following a path that’s not of your own choosing and betraying your innermost desires. The ghosts that chase you are only perceived threats, and until you relinquish their power over you, you’ll never be a happy man.”

  She shuddered slightly—proof, to Rafferty, that this was indeed a little hocus-pocus she staged for everyone who came here. Yet her words shook him to the core: she’d gotten too damn close to truths she had no way of knowing! He dropped her hand and abruptly stood up.

  Miss LaBelle, unruffled, picked up a well-worn deck of cards and began to riffle its edges, filling the tent with its illicit whisper. “Shall we try the cards now?” she asked, her tone returning to its original flirtatiousness. “How about double or nothing? If they confirm what I just said, you pay me aga
in, and if they come up different you get twice your money back.”

  “If you think I’ll fall for that trick—”

  “How about plain old poker, then?” she asked with a winsome grin. “Haven’t had a man as interesting as you at my table in a long while. And you have to be a better player than Gideon.”

  He watched in fascination as her nimble fingers turned the cards this way and that, shuffling with the expertise of a professional sharp. That’s what she is, you know. Nothing but a con artist, he reminded himself.

  “Maybe some other night,” he hedged as he backed toward the flap of the tent. “Maudie and I have work to do.”

  The cool night air brought reality back to him as he strode across the fairgrounds, his dog at his heels. Must’ve been the incense, or the shadowy atmosphere of the tent, or the allure of an exotic woman’s touch and hypnotic voice that made him let his guard down in there, but never again! Amber LaBelle was a dangerous lady, telling him secrets he never knew about himself—so innocently and effortlessly! If he didn’t need the money Maudie’s act would supply, he’d be on his horse without a backward glance.

  His thoughts about that witchy-woman in there were muddled by the spell she’d woven around him . . . close enough to kiss him she’d been, when she delivered those prophetic pronouncements about betraying his own desires and running from ghosts. And the only solution to the gnawing in his gut was to stay the hell away from her for the rest of the week.

  Amber watched the elusive Mr. Rafferty closely over the next few days. He had a brash way about him that appealed to her, a go-to-hell attitude around Midnight and the other men that she found refreshingly funny.

  But he scared her witless. She was the queen of the carnival, a sly shyster who could talk a line of mumbo jumbo that would send a man’s wallet flying from his pocket ... or she’d coax it out with fingers that were she-devil slick, if he wasn’t cooperating fully. At the touch of Jack’s hand, however, an intuitive rush came over her that had nothing to do with Madame La-Belle’s exotic fakery. She suddenly knew these things about Rafferty: that he was a hunted, unhappy man who’d been wronged more than once—by women, she suspected—and that this lone wolf would lash out and defend himself to the death, even against a woman who wanted to free him from the demons he so constantly looked over his shoulder to find.