For those of you who followed the "Control/ Possess/ Seduce" competition I am pleased to confirm that Outlaw was my own humble little entry. Outlaw is literally a labour of love for me (see my extended authors note at the end if you are interested in the origins of the story). It's been knocking around in my head for a while but the contest subject really gave me the impetus to make it happen. Whilst I can knock out a chapter a week of a contemporary story without breaking a sweat I literally laboured over Outlaw. From the type of gun that Edward would carry to the ladies' underwear, each detail had to be researched in painstaking detail.

Fear not, this is not the end for Edward and Bella! However, instead of a serial I see Outlaw as a series of novella length pieces charting each time they meet as a series of loosely connected longer stories. There will be updates, and when they are posted they will be lengthy, but given the time each update will take I can't guarantee when the next one will be. I do hope that if you liked Outlaw that you hang around.

Thanks to AlisonJG my trusty Beta!

Lady Letters

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rhyolite, Nevada, 1907

Bath day for the Montana Rose was big business in the Saloon.

"Come on gents," yelled Bella, her rich voice rising over the hubbub of the busy saloon, "Rose isn't getting washed until the bottom of that bath is covered in gold." Rose sat on the edge of a copper bathtub that had been placed in the centre of the room where the gaming tables usually resided, dressed in a beautiful pink embroidered kimono that Bella had obtained, in return for a small favour, from Joe the Chinaman. Rose, a slight flush on her peaches and cream complexion from a recent shot of whiskey seemed perfectly at ease perched on the edge of the tub. Her long blonde hair was piled onto the top of her head and her face was scrubbed clean, free of the powder and rouge that usually covered it.

"Come on boys," she purred, trailing a finger into the water, now a third of the way up the copper bathtub, giving the crowd a glimpse of her ample cleavage as the kimono fell artfully open with such subtlety that it appeared an accident. "I'm just dying for a bath."

A young boy of around seventeen rose to his feet and dropped a rough nugget of gold into the water before retreating back to his seat, cheeks blazing.

"That's it," she cried, clapping her hands with delight. "Did I mention that I'll need somebody to help scrub my back?" There was a loud scrape of chair legs on wood as another half dozen of the assembled prospectors, shop owners and bull whackers rose to their feet and dropped more little nuggets of gold into the bath.

Bella pushed through the crowd with another bucket of hot water, casting her eyes across the room in her level, practised manner to check for men who were drunk, rowdy or known crooks. One man caught her attention, a face that she didn't know, sitting at the bar dressed head to toe in black. An oddity when every other man in the saloon was crowded around Rose.

"Nearly there gents," she yelled, the Irish brogue of her voice making her raised voice more musical than most. "If you've got any coins, nuggets or trinkets burning a hole in your pocket it's time to get them out." She dumped the steaming contents of the bucket into the bathtub and leaned in close to Rose.

"The young boy," she muttered, "he's green as a four leaf clover."

"He's sweet," said Rose, quietly, the hint of a smile on her face, "his cheeks were blazing and all he's seen so far is a glimpse of my ankles."

"Rose," said Bella, putting a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Young and sweet perhaps but still a client." Rose smiled mysteriously, as if she knew better. Bella sighed inwardly, sometimes she forgot that Rose was little more than a girl herself.

"One more bucket of water and we're full!" she continued, "there's still a few gaps on the bottom of that bath and I promise you, if it's not completely covered you're not seeing anything." The tension was building and again, the hubbub of the room reached a climax with the now slightly worse for wear crowd searching waistcoat pockets for the last little nuggets of gold to ensure a good show. Bella handed the empty bucket to a hovering Alice who rushed it out the back for the one armed Renee to refill. She walked through the throng, greeting the doctor with a squeeze of the shoulder, a couple of familiar faces with a smile and a friendly word and skilfully patting away the hands of several men who didn't know her well enough yet to know that she wasn't for sale.

Rattlesnake Jake stood at the door, hands crossed across his body, surveying the crowd with a mean glare.

"Rowdy lot tonight," he observed as Bella paused beside him.

"I know," she said, tucking a stray strand of her dark hair back into her tresses and checking that her favourite shamrock hair pin was still in place, "but a night like this brings in as much trade as we usually do in a fortnight. I don't need to tell you how much we need the cash."

"Still," he frowned, "I worry about the girls."

"Any troublemakers?" she asked, changing the subject. Jake might not be able to read or write but as well as being mean as a rattlesnake he was smart and an excellent judge of character. His strength and loyalty had earned him a place as the only male living and working in her saloon.

"There's a couple of prospectors hell bent on fighting each other over there." He pointed surreptitiously to a small group of men in the corner, two conspicuously sat on the fringes of the group and casting the occasional hostile glance at each other. The frontier was wild and claims were a huge bone of contention. It wasn't unusual for men to come to blows or even kill each other over a disputed piece of land or a stolen nugget.

"Keep an eye on them," she ordered and he nodded his understanding. "What about the man at the bar?"

"Almost as tall as me," said Jake, grudgingly, "and keeping himself to himself for the moment." He fixed her with his dark eyes, searching her face for a clue as to her state of mind. "What's your concern?"

"I don't know," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and using the moment as an excuse to look at the lean stranger again. "He's the only one not looking at Rose."

"He was looking at you." Jake regarded her from above through half closed eyes, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Nonsense," she said, fighting the urge to ask him when the handsome stranger had looked at her and covering up the flush rising to her cheeks by making a show of rearranging her breasts within the tight silk dress. "There's just something about him that makes me uncomfortable, that's all, something I can't put my finger on."

"I thought at first that he held himself like a lawman," offered Jake, thoughtfully, "but he's not wearing a badge and that gun is like no lawman's I've ever seen." She followed his gaze, running her eyes down the man's lean dark form to his sidearm. It was a Colt 1873 single action revolver, the long barrel familiar due to it being a common model in these parts, yet she had never seen one adorned with such beautiful mother of pearl handles.

"Expensive," she muttered. This man was becoming more curious by the minute. It didn't seem that Bella was the only one who thought so because the only two empty seats in the house were on either side of him. "Keep an eye on him, Jake," she implored. He nodded and she flitted off back into the crowd, taking the newly refilled bucket of hot water from Alice and making a great show of carrying it toward the stage.

"Gentlemen, please," yelled Bella, quietening the hubbub of the expectant crowd to a simmering chatter with just two words and a single raised hand. She lowered her voice slightly, letting the brogue in her accent caress the words with their velvety tones. "I am mighty pleased to confirm that this bath tub is now completely covered with gold." The crowd cheered and she smiled indulgently, letting them have their moment before the ragged cheer came abruptly to an end, the weight of expectation in the air building. "So as promised the Montana Rose will now take her bath." This time there was silence, a slight murmur as the crowd settled but every man remained focused on the figure of Rose. That is, every man apart from the stranger at the bar.

Her eyes fixed on him for a moment, surprised to find his green eyes on her. He had risen from the barstool where she had first seen him and was now leaning back against the bar, his elbows propping himself up on the rough hewn wooden surface. He was looking on with interest, in the way that you might watch a hanging to make sure that the murderer was dead, a dispassionate interest completely at odds with the crude voyeurism of the rest of the crowd. She faltered for a moment, quite forgetting where she was. Rose, sensing that something was wrong followed her gaze looking first at the tall stranger and then back at her boss who was staring back. She cleared her throat, pulling at Bella's skirts to bring her attention back to the moment.

"And without further ado," continued Bella quickly, wrenching her gaze away from the arresting man, "I give you Rose, as free and naked as the day she was born." Rose got gracefully to her feet. Bella took hold of the kimono by the neck and slowly, sensuously, drew it back over Rose's shoulders. There was an audible gasp as her form was bared to the room. For all that hurdy gurdies and brothels were a fact of life in the West, sex was still something that happened in the dark, a perfunctory lift of the skirts. The sight of a fully naked woman, especially one as statuesque as Rose was a rare treat; something to be savoured. Rose covered her breasts and crotch area for a moment, feigning shyness. Bella held out her hand and Rose took it, dropping her hands and letting Bella help her into the steaming water.

The pent up tension of the crowd released in one collective breath and Renee started turning the wheel on the hurdy gurdy to start a gay tune. The men went back to drinking and chatting, the brave ones getting to their feet to gaze down at Rose in the bathtub. She smiled and rubbed a washcloth across her body and spread her legs slightly to reward them with a glimpse of pink underneath her blonde curls of hair. Bella knew that it was uncomfortable for her in the bath, sitting on a bed of gold coins and nuggets, yet she also knew that Rose would smile and bear the discomfort with a gay smile with the knowledge that she would receive her cut, along with all of the other girls in her co-op, later on.

"Why Rose," said Bella in a low voice, making sure that it was loud enough for the crowd to hear, "it seems to me as if you could with somebody to scrub your back."

"But who?" giggled Rose, sitting up and giving every man in the place a prime view of her breasts, the wet nipples puckered in the fresh air, scanning the room for a target. "How about you, sir?" She held up the washcloth to the young boy, who looked left and right to his friends to make sure that it really was him that was being chosen for this honour. "Yes you, silly!" The two men beside him propelled him to his feet, taking great glee in his obvious discomfort. Bella saw him gulp as he came close, nervous and excited, a bulge already visible in his coarse woollen trousers. Rose handed him a washcloth and leaned forward, gesturing for him to scrub her back. After a moment of hesitation he dipped the cloth in the water then wrung it out a little, working it over her back in an efficient and workmanlike manner. Rose let out little moans and groans, appearing to enjoy his diligent scrubbing. Bella smiled to herself; the success of this little trick always depended on the correct participant. Rose leaned back a little in the tub, signalling the end of the scrubbing. Before the boy could rise to his feet she grabbed his hand, prised the washcloth out of it and pulled it round to her breast so that he was cupping it from behind in one hand. She moaned theatrically, pushing herself into his hand.

"Rose," snapped Bella, suppressing a smile as she saw the tell-tale convulsion as the boy peaked, one hand immediately going to his groin to cover the spreading wet patch. "Enough, this is a reputable establishment." The crowd, of course, had not missed what happened. She felt the atmosphere change, the sexual charge morphing into laughter and hilarity as the horrified boy jumped to his feet and ran out of the saloon, two hands clasped over his manhood. Bella relaxed a little. Bath days were always tense. With the customers all in the saloon rather than the girls' rooms there was a greater capacity for something to go wrong, a riot to break out or a customer to get rough. Time had taught her that if she could turn the crowd to laughter that the chances of anything ill happening were much reduced.

She made her way back to the bar, leaving Rose to hold court in the room from her wet perch. The hurdy gurdy played a gay tune and she was on top form, handing out glimpses of her form like treats, bantering back and forward good naturedly and putting down the lairier men with witty barbs.

"She's a pro that one," came a quiet voice. The stranger. She ignored him for a moment, taking a bottle of whiskey from the dirty shelf at the back of the bar, uncorking it and pouring a good measure of the liquor into a small glass. The desert was a dry harsh place and everything was dusty, a layer settling around each bottle as soon as Renee cleaned the shelf underneath it.

"Well, she is a pro," said Bella. She smiled, a tight movement of her lips that she knew didn't reach to her eyes. "In fact," she downed the whiskey in one fell swoop, wiping her mouth in an unladylike manner with her sleeve as soon as the glass landed back on the bar top, "she could be your companion tonight for the right amount of gold."

"I'm not interested in women of easy virtue," said the stranger. Bella poured another glass of whiskey, this time to give her hands something to keep them busy, aware as she was of the stranger gazing intently at her.

"Boys then?" she asked, deliberately provocative. "Joe the Chinaman's got a couple of those down at the hog stand on the highway."

"I'm definitely not interested in boys," said the stranger, seemingly not bothered by her deliberate attempt to goad him. Bella put the glass to her lips, downing the second whiskey in a quick gulp.

"Well," she said, daring to look at him straight on for the first time, "what are you interested in?"

"I'm interested in you." She stopped for a moment, putting her hands on her hips.

"Don't mistake me for one of my girls, sir, I'm not for sale."

"Oh, I don't doubt it ma'am," he said, spreading his elegant hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. "On the contrary, I have a business arrangement I wish to discuss."

"Business?" Her eyes narrowed. She was trying to compose an appropriate response when a flash of movement caught her eye. Jake had left his post at the door and was making his way into the throng. Renee immediately stopped turning the wheel on the hurdy gurdy and the gay tune came to an abrupt halt. She followed Jake with her gaze towards the source of commotion, the two quarrelling prospectors from earlier apparently no longer able to maintain a veneer of civility.

"Goddammit," said Bella through gritted teeth, reaching under the bar for the sawn off Remington 1877 double barrel shotgun that she kept loaded and ready to go. A moment later she was striding across the room, shotgun in hand, the crowd parting to let her though. Jake was already there, in between the fighting pair, trying to keep them apart with brute strength and snarled words of common sense. Renee had barreled into the action as well, grabbing at the shirt sleeves of one of the protagonists to try to pull them apart.

"Stop that," screamed Bella, poking the barrel of the shotgun into the arms of one of the men. The man, a crazed look in his eyes, pushed the barrel away and threw a punch at his opponent. Bella took aim and fired the shotgun. The table behind the men exploded in a cloud of sawdust and splinters, the roar loud enough to drown out every other noise in the room. Both men, stunned by the close proximity of the gunshot, stopped dead.

"That was a warning shot," she yelled, pulling the slide to ready the other barrel, "the next one won't be." Jake took the opportunity to grab both men by the scruff of the collar and escort them off the premises. Bella followed with the shotgun to ensure their compliance. In her peripheral vision Renee slipped a wallet into her skirt pocket. For having only one hand, she was amazingly handy with it. Renee scurried back to the hurdy gurdy and started pumping the handle again. With the spectacle over the men went bank to drinking, chatting and ogling Rose in her bath. Jake, the two fighting men safely escorted off the premises, took up his habitual place at the door, nodding his head to indicate that they had cleared off.

"Now where were we?" Bella, reloaded the shotgun conspicuously in front of the stranger and returned it to it's hiding place under the bar, "I think that you mentioned a spot of business."

"It's private business," he said. She observed him for a moment, trying to size him and his intentions up. He was handsome, distractingly so, with clear green eyes and bronze hair slicked back from his face with hair oil. A heavy moustache adorned his top lip, clean and well trimmed, with a matching strip in the centre of his chin pointing down from his mouth. Under his long dark coat was a white shirt, dark tie and a double breasted dogs-tooth waistcoat adorned with mother of pearl buttons. A gold chain hinted at a pocket watch. He smiled, his mouth full of straight white teeth, all apart from the molar behind one of his prominent eye teeth which had been replaced with a gold one. Even to her untrained eye it looked like a good quality product.

"The back room then, Mr...?"

"Masen, ma'am. Edward Masen."

"Mr Masen then," she smiled, turning on the charm that she habitually used when dealing with members of the opposite sex. The old act slid on as easily as a pair of freshly starched drawers. "Do follow me." Jake caught her eye and she indicated with a cock of her head that she was taking the stranger into the dark room. He nodded imperceptibly, taking on the mantle of second in command, catching Alice's eye and sending her to cover the bar.

"Mr Masen," she said, closing the door of the parlour door behind her, silently cursing the light coating of dust on her specially imported Victorian furniture. "As we are to be talking business I do ask that you leave your sidearm at the door." She indicated a little table beside the door.

"Of course," he said, unclipping the Colt and placing it carefully on the table. "I would ask that you do the same ma'am."

"Oh," she said, with what she hoped was a coy smile, "I don't carry a sidearm." He paused for a moment, regarding her with his green eyes as if weighing up the truth of her statement. In a movement so quick that it quite knocked the breath from her chest he pushed her firmly but not violently against the door of the parlour then ran a practised hand down her corseted waist and over her hips and the skirt of her dress. He patted at the heavy folds until he found what he was looking for. Smiling a wolfish grin he pushed his hand into a hidden slit in the depths of her heavy silk skirts and pulled out a tiny Derringer pistol.

"Oh," she said, surprising herself with how genuinely surprised she sounded, "I must have forgotten that was there." He stepped back from her a little, an amused expression on his face. One hand stayed beside her head, propping him up against the wall, his body touching distance from hers. "I had to take some extra precautions today," she lied, "on account of all the strangers in here for Rose's bath."

"I'll wager a woman in your position always has a couple of weapons stashed away on her person." His face maintained a veneer of amusement but there was a hard edge to it now, a weight of expectation in the air. She took a deep, ragged breath and tapped into the steely reserve that had served her well in the self preservation stakes these past twenty three years.

"Oh no," fake laughter trilled from her mouth in forced, ugly little spurts, "just the little gun."

"Ms Burdan," his green eyes flashed impatience and not more than a little danger, "we can do this the easy way or the hard way. And trust me when I say that I would really, really enjoy doing it the hard way." She licked her lips involuntarily and gulped, her mouth suddenly dry at the thought of what this stranger could do to her. "I suggest," he continued, leaning in to whisper into her ear, the quiet, deliberate nature of the words only making them more menacing, the little hairs on the back of her standing up, every fibre of her being warning her that this stranger was bad news, "that you get out whatever other weapons that you have stashed upon your person right away so that we can end this unpleasant little scene and start talking business like civilised folks." She stood staring at him defiantly for a moment, the whisky on his breath warm in her nose, the smell of his sweat fresh and earthy, not like some of the prospectors in the saloon who thought that baths were a monthly treat rather than a necessity. His eyes were steady but not wild or aggressive. Weighing up the situation and falling on the side of compliance she sighed, bent down and pulled a short double sided knife out of her lace up boot, deliberately giving Mr Masen a flash of her shapely calf in the process. She pressed the bodice of her dress discreetly as she stood up, checking that her little back-up blade was still tucked in to a secret pocket a little below her breasts. If she couldn't get to that there was a long, sharp pin in her hair, disguised as a hair decoration with a glittering shamrock head.

"There we go," she said, calm on the surface but trembling imperceptibly as she put the knife on the table beside his Colt and her little Derringer, "you can't be too careful." She felt suddenly vulnerable, more naked without her gun and knife than if she had been in that bath instead of Rose.

"Mrs Masen," smiled the driver, holding out a hand to help her onto the coach. A team of four horses were already harnessed, little puffs of dust rising from impatient hooves. There were to be eight coaches in their party, six laden with goods and two carrying passengers as well as four Pinkertons on horseback. It wasn't yet midday but the horizon had already disappeared into a glittery mirage. An inconsistent wind blew a tumbleweed by her feet. She couldn't help but think that her own precarious position was more in common with the tumbleweed than with the other passengers.

"Mrs Masen?"

"Sorry," she said graciously, bestowing a lovely smile on the man and letting him help her up the steps. Edward followed, sitting down beside her and making the number of passengers up to eight. His thigh touched hers, hot despite the layers of material between them and she moved away as if she had been burned. He smiled, clearly amused that he made her uncomfortable. She pulled out a fan from her skirts, surreptitiously checking that the Derringer was still in there too and, satisfied that it was, fanned her face vigorously. It was hot but the flush on her face was as much to do with Edward as the weather. He was a tall, slim man yet his aura seemed to take up more space than his physical body did. You could feel him in the room before seeing him and if he looked at her she would feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up until she looked around and found him looking at her with that enigmatic smile.

The occupants across from them were a family, mother father and two daughters. Both girls could barely take their eyes off him and the mother was even casting surreptitious glances at him when she thought that her husband was not looking. Edward smiled back at the girls politely, running two fingers from the centre of his moustache to the ends in a practised self-deprecating manner. The coach moved a little as some more luggage was loaded and a hat box threatened to fall from the overhead rack above the family.

"Allow me," said Edward, springing to his feet and carefully pushing the box back into place.

"Why thank you," said the matriarch, "Mr...?"

"Mr Masen, ma'am," said Edward, tipping his hat at her and flashing his smile at the family. Both girls blushed. "Pleased to be of service." Masen, my hat, thought Bella. Her suspicions had been aroused about his true identity when he had insisted that an alias would not be necessary.

"And is this your sister?" said the woman, hopefully.

"Oh no," chuckled Edward, sitting back down on the upholstered seat and pulling her hand into his lap. "This is my wife, Isabella." Bella scowled, ready to spit out a suitably pithy comment when his tight grip on her hand reminded her why she was there.

"Charmed," said Bella, smiling briefly.

"My wife doesn't travel very well, do you?" he said.

"No, my darling," said Bella pointedly, "it's a means to an end, that's all."

"I, on the other hand," said Edward, stretching his legs out in front of him and moving the back of her hand surreptitiously into contact with his hard length which seemed to reach halfway down his trouser leg, "find that I enjoy the journey quite as much as the destination." He turned his head to look at her, an adoring gaze for his rapt audience. She smiled back at him, more grimace than smile and moved her hand away from his hardness. He winked at her with mischievous green eyes but didn't let go of her hand. It was to her abject embarrassment that she found herself blushing.

It was a relief when the coach jerked into action, the rhythmic clopping of the horse's hooves punctuating the start of the long journey. One week, she told herself, one week to pretend that she was Mrs Masen, help Edward pull off his robbery and return to Rhyolite and the saloon with a stack of gold. Bella cursed him silently for the millionth time. She had told him flat out no at first. Yet Edward Masen had clearly done his homework. He knew that Bella ran a co-op with each whore sharing equally in the profits. He knew that men who behaved themselves didn't get robbed in her saloon. He knew, and she had no idea how, that the man who tried to strangle Alice had ended up dead and buried in a shallow grave in the desert. He had some misguided idea that she was a crook with principles and his perfect partner in crime. In the end it was the money that had swayed her. She ran her business honestly and paid her taxes but those bastards in town charged her extra for everything, on account of the type of business that she ran so her overheads were higher than most. Some of the girls were getting older and wouldn't be able to whore much longer. Yet she couldn't send Renee or Alice to one of those hog stands on the main highway where soldiers and grubby prospectors could stop and take their pleasure for a couple of coins until the mistreatment forced them to an early grave. No, she had to find a way to keep them employed but building a laundry or a legitimate hotel would take capital, and capital was something that she was extremely short on. Rhyolite was expanding every week and Charles Schwab, the new owner of the Montgomery Shoshone Mine had already brought electricity and telephones to the town. It was even rumoured that the railroad would be next. Rhyolite, like Bella Burdan, was on the up and she planned to make the most of it.

"Shall we go over the plan again?" asked Edward. They were stopped for the evening in a roadside saloon, holed up in a crude double room dominated by a double bed that Bella was studiously ignoring.

"I know the plan," snapped Bella, still harbouring some ill will towards him for deliberately making her uncomfortable in the coach earlier, "now help me with this dress." His eyes widened slightly in response and she had the satisfaction of turning the tables and seeing Edward Masen look uncomfortable instead.

"Come on," she barked, turning her back to him so that he could see the fastenings, "there's no maids here to help me with my dress. I need you to unfasten it." She looked over her shoulder at him and thought she saw him gulp, yet a moment later the aura of confidence was back in place and his skilful fingers were loosening the fastenings, taking care not to touch her skin. With the dress loosened she eased it over her shoulders then down past her waist, stepping out of the bell shaped skirt before hanging it safely up, trying to brush some of the dust from the lengths but giving up as quickly as she started. She breathed a sigh of relief, the fresh air flowing through the thin fabric of her chemise and drawers a welcome respite after the uncomfortable, stifling journey. It was starting to get dark outside and by dinner, when she would have to put the dress back on, it should hopefully have cooled to a bearable temperature. She considered taking off the form fitting corset that sat on top of her under garments too but decided that was a step too far. She was already the most vulnerable that she had ever been in front of Edward, not that she was going to let him know that.

"The plan then," she said, sitting down in a wooden chair and tilting her chin defiantly toward him in a show of bravado. He looked at her, unfathomable, then took off his own jacket and unbuttoned the dogs-tooth waistcoat, laying it down carefully on the slightly grubby bedclothes. He started to roll up his shirtsleeves but paused for a moment then slipped his braces over his shoulders and instead pulled his shirt over his head in one easy movement and laying it down carefully beside the waistcoat.

"Well," he said, picking up the bottle that he had arranged to be sent to the room, "I'll certainly join you if it's comfort that we're aiming for." His waist was slim and without the braces the few steps that he had taken between the centre of room and the table and chairs caused his breeches to slide scandalously low, revealing a V of flesh that disappeared, along with a line of dark hair, into the dark depths. His forearms were tanned yet the rest of his flesh was creamy and pale, lean capable muscles shaping his arms and torso. An angry red scar cut a slash across his abdomen and there was a messy lump of scar tissue just below his shoulder that she assumed was a gunshot wound. She stared at his body, unable to look away from the imperfect panes, almost overcome by a visceral desire to touch him, to know his scars and his pain and share it. Instead, she gritted her teeth and accepted the glass of whiskey that he poured for her with a hoarse thanks. Despite the hot day he still smelled good, salty and earthy, clean and manly and she breathed his scent surreptitiously as he sat down in the wooden seat across from her, the table safely between them.

"The plan," he said, with an easy smile, sipping his own whiskey, the rise and fall of his chest a miracle that she could barely tear her eyes from, "is to make ourselves such good company that we are invited to ride in the private carriage of Frederick and Annabel Englund." She nodded, drinking her own whiskey in one gulp and slamming the glass onto the table. He raised an eyebrow and poured her a second. "Once in their carriage we drug them with laudanum and at the next rest stop make off with the gold that Mr Englund is carrying on his person as well as Mrs Englund's jewels."

"We're really not going to steal anything else?" she asked. "There's six more coaches laden with goods travelling with us, wouldn't it make sense to make our escape in one of those?"

"I appreciate your spirit," he smiled, the wolfish grin again, the gold tooth glinting in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window, "but you've seen the Pinkertons travelling with us?" She had, four mean looking private security guards on horseback flanking the Englund's coach, constantly scanning the horizon for trouble. "We need to be able to make a discreet exit before the Englund's realise that they have been robbed. Our lives depend on it."

"You're back," said Bella, coldly. She was sitting in the same wooden chair as earlier, the half empty bottle in front of her. It was pitch black outside, cool air pouring in the open window. The electric light cast a dim yellow glow over the room, flickering occasionally in an inconstant reminder of how new the innovation was.

"I am," he swayed a little, "Fred is a mean card player." He sat down in the seat opposite her, his eyes glassy, the smell of smoke and sawdust still on his clothes. "How was your evening with Annabeth?" After a dinner where Edward and Bella had flirted, laughed and generally charmed their way into the Englund's affections the men had stayed in the bar to drink and play cards whilst Bella and Mrs Englund had retired to her chamber to make small talk. Mrs Englund had been dreadfully dull however things had picked up when she produced a bottle of fine French brandy from her oversized trunk. Unlike Bella, she wasn't used to liquor and in a couple of hours they had, in her eyes, become firm friends.

"Dull," Bella admitted, "extremely dull. However..." she said, with a smug smile, her pause building the tension. He turned his full attention to her again, his green eyes gazing at her intently through long dark lashes, "Mrs Englund finds the journey dreadfully tedious and has suggested that her two maids travel in the main coach to make room for us to travel in their private coach."

"Oh, Bella!" In a moment he had closed the space between them, drawing her to her feet and enveloping her into a quick but intense hug. "I knew," he said in a muffled whisper into the top of her hair in a low, private voice, that shimmied all the way down her spine and into her groin, "I knew that you would be the right woman for the job."

She meant to tell him to unhand her but when she lifted her head to speak his eyes caught hers in their uncanny green gaze and she found herself staring into their wild depths, unable to complete her intended sentence. They stood still for a moment, his arms tight around her waist. It was fight or flight, this man exuded sexuality and danger. Yet, instead of going for the kill he surprised her, loosening his grip on her waist and raising his hands to her hair. His skilled fingers undid first one clip, then another, setting each one on the table. He raised one eyebrow comedically as he discovered the sharp little shamrock and they both smiled. Finally he stepped behind her, pulling the last of the grips from her hair. She sighed as her tight updo came undone. His hands gently unwound her hair, using his fingers to spread the mahogany tresses then to comb the loosened locks across her shoulders and down her back. He moved so close that she could feel him pressing against her back, his face buried in her hair breathing in greedy lungfuls of her scent.

"Do you want me to help me with your dress?" he whispered. She nodded, a tiny movement, and he swept a hand across her back, raising goosepimples where he touched, piling her hair over one shoulder and out of the way. He was quicker this time, his fingers flying over the fastenings. She breathed in, waiting for him to slide the dress down her form. Instead came the sound of a man sliding into a creaky wooden chair, the tell-tale pop as he uncorked the whisky bottle.

What had just happened? Bella had been sure that he was going to ravish her and pretty sure that she was powerless to stop him, lost as she had been in his eyes and his arms. How, given that he had not even touched her, had he managed to leave her marooned in the middle of this room, her bosoms heaving in their corset, her breath coming in quick shallow gasps and her drawers dampening with expectation? What sort of man could whip her into a frenzy then go back to his drink as if nothing had happened.

"Thank you," she said curtly, not daring to look at him. She scurried behind the dressing screen and quickly slipped out of the dress, her corset and drawers. Dressed in only her chemise she scurried to the iron framed bedstead and threw back the bedcovers, getting in and pulling the sheets up immediately as a protective cocoon. They had already placed a dividing pillow along the middle of the bed but somehow she knew that having that man just inches away was going to make it nigh on impossible to sleep.

"You're back," said Bella. It was the next evening and she was sitting in a different room, on a different chair in a different roadside saloon waiting for Edward. For the second night in a row he was swaying yet tonight it was markedly worse. "Jesus Christ," she cursed, as he sank heavily down into the other chair, "how much have you been drinking?"

"I told you," said Edward, "Fred's a mean card player." He took off his sidearm and placed it heavily on the table. In the glow of the electric light she noticed that he had a split lip and dried blood stained his collar.

"What the hell happened to you?" she snapped.

"Got in a fight," he said. He was too inebriated to lie yet his answer didn't tell her anything.

"Why?" He mumbled something unintelligible and tried to take off his boots. When he failed Bella impatiently got to her feet and pulled them off one foot at a time, throwing them disdainfully on top of his already discarded coat. He sighed and sank lower into his chair. She was pretty sure that he would fall asleep there.

"Why?" she asked, a second time.

"Defending your honour," he said, trying to stop his eyes from drooping shut.

"Stupid man," she muttered. "Why would you get yourself hurt for a whore?"

"You're not a whore," he whispered, one eye opening wide for a moment, "you're mine." She shook her head, making out that she was annoyed with him but had to drop her head to hide the tiny smile that played upon her lips.

"Your dress," he said, his eyes opening once more but his words slurred, "come here and I'll undo it for you." She wanted to refuse but without his help she would be stuck in the confines of the heavy silk all night. She stood in front of him, bending her knees slightly so that he could undo the fastenings. This time his fingers fumbled and it took some time. "So beautiful," he breathed, his voice reverential. He dropped his hands back to his sides and the words tailed off into heavy breathing, the sort that would morph into drunken snoring in no time.

Bella was a brothel keeper, she saw the worst of men, their aggression and their impulses and desires. She had tried marriage as a wide-eyed teenage immigrant, a union that had ended in death and heartache, a tiny wooden cross atop an infant sized grave marked in white pebbles the only painful reminder of that time. What she hadn't seen in a man was this level of honour. Edward was a crook, he made no secret of that. Yet there was something honest about him, a thread of truth and good intention wound through him as surely as thin threads of silk bound together to make something cohesive, a whole more beautiful and covetous than the sum of the individual parts. The trip had given him every opportunity to ravage her yet despite some playful overtures designed to embarrass her in public he remained a gentleman in all respects. She might have convinced herself that he was not interested in her yet the way that he looked at her, with wolfish green eyes, and the way that he revelled in taking her hand or patting her bottom in public went far beyond the boundaries of their agreed charade.

In truth he continued to trouble her. From the moment they met he had occupied every waking thought, a silent obsession that permeated to her unconscious mind. Her dreams were always of him, a siren or a lighthouse, a beacon that drew her closer and closer although her irrational nightmarish mind knew that he epitomised danger itself. Tomorrow would be make or break, their carefully plotted robbery a success or failure. And if they weren't both dead they would have to part company the very next day.

"And I said, darling, that knife is for cheese, not meat," Mrs Englund clapped her hands together in delight, clearly pleased with the punchline of her joke. Bella dug deep and found a fake smile, flapping her fan faster in front of her face to try to disguise the fact that it was all teeth. Edward chuckled appreciatively and Mr Englund slapped the upholstery of the seat with his hand as if it were the funniest anecdote that he had ever heard.

"Your wife is just delightful," remarked Edward to Mr Englund, making the man's chest puff with self importance and Mrs Englund's face flush at the compliment.

"And yours too," said Mr Englund, looking straight at Bella's breasts, as he had been doing with alarming regularity these last two days. His gaze was lecherous, he clearly thought her a possession to be admired rather than a human being. "How long did you say you had been married?"

"Only a few months," said Edward smoothly, "newlyweds really." She looked across at him and he was already gazing at her. Her stomach lurched a little as she realised that he was staring into her eyes, rather than her bosom. This time it was she who took the initiative, snaking her hand across the upholstered seat to take his in hers. His eyes widened a fraction, surprised by her movement, yet his gaze kept steady and he squeezed her hand gently as if they were newlyweds and it was the most natural thing in the world for them to want to touch each other at every opportunity.

"There is a certain," Mrs Englund paused for a moment, struggling to find the words, "a certain electricity surrounding you both." She sighed. "It must be the newlywed piece. It does wear off I'm afraid."

"Not for me," said Mr Englund, stuffing his hand down the front of her dress and groping around with all the art of a cook stuffing a turkey. Bella ground her teeth together, horrified at the man's treatment of his wife. It seemed to her that the only difference between Mrs Englund and one of her whores was the social status afforded to her for marrying such a rich man. She gripped Edward's hand tighter, signalling her disgust, before turning her head to look out of the window whilst Mrs Englund valiantly fought off his mauling. In time they lapsed into silence again. The rhythmic sound of horse's hooves clip clopped outside.

"Oh this journey is simply the most tiresome," said Mrs Englund, fanning herself laconically with a limp wrist. It was the tenth time that she had said that very thing in the last hour. Mr Englund didn't bother to hide his rolling eyes. Edward and Bella exchanged glances.

"Well," said Bella, leaning across the coach and placing a hand on Mrs Englund's knee, "I might have a little something to help you sleep."

"Really?" Her interest piqued Mrs Englund leaned forward, snapping the fan shut with an audible whack and putting one of her heavily jewelled hands over Bella's. "Do tell."

"Laudanum," said Bella.

"The painkiller?" huffed Mr Englund, incredulous.

"Yes," replied Bella, "a few drops, when the user has no pain, is enough to induce a deep sleep." Mrs Englund's jaw dropped and her eyes widened slightly, clearly intrigued at the prospect of sleeping away the detestful journey.

"Well," Mr Englund butted in, his voice imperious, "I for one will be avoiding that drug. I've seen what it can do to people."

"I understand," said Edward, easily, although she had known him long enough now to recognise the slight tensing of his jaw, "but I, for one, am going to administer some right now." He winked at Mr Englund. "Bella?" He turned his head toward her and she pulled the small bottle from her skirts. Edward turned his face toward her and she used the dropper to deposit a few drops safely down the side of his face. He placed his head against the upholstered seat in a movement that wiped the drops from his face and closed his eyes as if drifting off to sleep. Bella's hands shook and her heart pounded deep in her chest. This was the moment where they had to take the bait for her plan to work. She placed the dropper back into the bottle and refilled it as if for herself.

"Wait," said Mrs Englund, rustling into a fully upright position, "dose me first please."

"Annabel?" queried Mr Englund, the disapproval in his voice palpable.

"Don't be silly," snapped Annabel, "this journey will go a lot quicker if we sleep through it."

"But protection my darling..."

"Nonsense," replied Mrs Englund, "there's four heavily armed Pinkertons outside, if bandits were to get past them then there's nothing that you could do to protect me. Just take the damn drops."

"Go on then," sighed Mr Englund. "Do her first, then me."

Mrs Englund obligingly opened her mouth and tipped her head back slightly, letting Bella put several droplets onto her tongue. Her eyes appeared heavier almost immediately and she blinked, trying to focus and maintain consciousness for a moment. Mr Englund still looked suspicious yet when Bella bestowed her most charming smile upon him he opened his mouth too, watching her chest as she bent over to dose him, deliberately giving him a prime view of her ample cleavage. Despite his fine clothes his scent had a sweet, slightly rotten scent that filled her nose like rotten flowers.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her wrist, "I've changed my mind."

"Don't be silly," she said gaily, deliberately squeezing the dropper. A couple of drops landed in his mouth but the rest splashed ineffectually down his chin. His grip on her wrist loosened fractionally but his eyes blazed. "I said no."

"You don't get to say no," came Edward's voice. He jumped to his feet, prising one of Englund's hands from Bella's wrist and using his knee to pin the other hand to the man's lap. "Do it," he said, urgently. She refilled the dropper and Mr Englund turned his head away, struggling against Edward. She could see Edward's arms and neck tense with the effort of holding the large, struggling man in place. She placed the soft end of the dropper in her mouth, holding it carefully between her teeth before grabbing Mr Englund's head and forcing it back. He wouldn't open his mouth so she forced a finger brutally into one eye. His mouth opened, the start of a scream, but she was ready, squeezing the dropper with her teeth and squirting more than a few droplets of the dark liquid into his mouth. He tried to spit it out but his tongue started to absorb the narcotic almost immediately and over the course of a minute his struggling lessened then eventually stopped and his ragged, frightened breathing evened out into the deep long breath of unnatural sleep.

Bella finally let go of his head, her hands shaking as she slumped back onto the upholstered bench. Edward followed a moment later, his suddenly clammy hand grabbing hers. They clung to each other, supernaturally still, barely able to breathe as they listened for a sign that the noise had raised suspicions. But the hooves clattered on in their soothing rhythm, the sun bleached scenery barrelling past at the same steady rate. Edward's free hand went to his waistcoat, pulling out a gold pocketwatch on a chain.

"Eleven thirty," he said, looking at her and slipping the watch back into his pocket. "We stop to rest in approximately half an hour. They'll need to rest the horses too so it will be at least an hour until they start moving again." Bella nodded her understanding. "If it all goes well they'll assume that Mr and Mrs Englund are just sleeping and they'll set off again without us, after you have feigned your illness."

"And if it doesn't go well?"

"Somebody will figure out that we've drugged and robbed them and our getaway time will be reduced to minutes rather than hours." She gulped, the seriousness of the situation suddenly hitting home. She wasn't ready for the gallows, not when there were so many people back in Rhyolite relying on her success. He squeezed her hand with his, a reassuring touch. She took a deep breath and pulled her hardened work persona back on.

"Let's pack the gold and jewels."

"Do you perhaps know where there is a doctor?" asked Edward. The coach driver frowned as Bella staggered a little, swooning into Edward's form for support as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She felt absolutely fine but there was something incredibly soothing at the feel of his strong arms around her, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"What's wrong with her?" the driver asked, eyeing her with suspicion.

"The silly thing has been taken a little giddy," said Edward, tightening a protective arm around her.

"There's a doctor a few doors up," said the man, turning his nose up at Bella's limp form. "We won't let her back on if she's ill."

"I know," said Edward with a grimace. "I'll tell you what, why don't we unload our cases here? If my wife recovers we can load back up with everybody else in an hour and if she doesn't we'll stay overnight and start our onward journey again tomorrow." The man nodded and cocked his head at one of his boys, indicating that he should unload their suitcases. Realising that the Englund's had not unloaded he peered into the depths of the carriage. Mr Englund was lying in his wife's lap, a visible dark patch of drool on his wife's dress. Mrs Englund's head had rolled back against the upholstered seat, an unladylike whining snore coming out of her mouth.

"A little worse for wear," said Edward with a wink. The driver frowned, moving to enter the carriage. "I wouldn't wake them if I were you," said Edward, grabbing his arm. Bella closed her eyes and hoped that the driver wouldn't notice that all of Mrs Englund's jewels were gone. The man paused for a moment, clearly wavering in his intent. "Mr Englund wanted to be fully rested before tonight," continued Edward, "you know," he said, lowering his voice in a manner that suggested that he did not want his wife to hear, "before we get to the Crazy Horse." The driver's face suddenly lit up with understanding. The Crazy Horse, their planned overnight stop, was as famed for its girls as it was for drink and gambling. He shut the door, shaking his head and laughing to himself at the thought of the rich man saving his energy for the brothel.

"Edward!" The doctor took off his round wire rimmed glasses and rose to his feet to embrace Edward in a tight hug.

"Carlisle," said Edward, with a smile, "how lovely to see you."

"And this is...?" The man looked at Bella expectantly.

"Mrs Bella Masen," she replied stiffly. Carlisle raised a tufty grey eyebrow and turned to Edward for an explanation.

"Don't worry," replied Edward, with a deep, genuine laugh, "Carlisle's an old friend, you don't have to lie to him."

"Bella Burdan," she said, holding out her hand to him like a man would and enjoying the slight look of surprise on his face as he shook it with his paper dry crinkly hand, "pleased to make your acquaintance." He held onto her hand a little longer than strictly necessary, regarding her with ill concealed interest through shrewd blue eyes.

"Likewise," she said without smiling. Edward hadn't seen fit to fill her in on the full details of their planned getaway so she had no idea who this man was. Dropping her hand, he turned to Edward. "There's clothes for her behind the screen. They're small sized, I'm afraid that I didn't realise that she would be so... chesty." Bella frowned and Edward laughed out loud.

"Don't worry doc," he said, "they'll do." He turned to her. "Bella, get changed," he commanded, "I'm going to pick up the suitcases." She nodded, watching his lean dark figure as it left the room, leaving the doors to shudder closed behind him before suddenly realising how alone and vulnerable she was.

"Go on," said Carlisle, urgently but not without kindness, "you don't have much time." She felt the weight of his voice and complied, scurrying behind the screen.

"Carlisle?" she said, poking her head back into the main room, a rough garment clutched between her thumb and forefinger. "These are boys clothes."

"Did Edward not tell you?" She shook her head. "If the Pinkertons twig what happened they'll be looking for a man and a woman. Edward thought that if two men left town together that it would be less conspicuous.

"Great," she huffed, pausing for a moment. "Carlisle?"

"Help with your dress?" he guessed. She nodded. He joined her behind the screen and loosened the fastenings, quickly and without hesitation. He left her alone again and she quickly stepped out of the dress and unhooked her corset. There was a pair of long johns with the outfit so she stepped out of her drawers and pulled the close fitting garment on next to her skin. It was strangely erotic compared to the gauzy flaps of her drawers. She pulled breeches on over that, they were tight, barely buttoning up over her hips and bottom. The leather boots were the right size and she was surprised to find that they were as comfortable as a pair of her own well worn shoes. She looked at the shirt, not sure whether to take off her chemise or to leave it on and try to tuck the length underneath the trousers. Making a decision she pulled the chemise off, baring her breasts for a brief moment before pulling the linen shirt on over her head and tucking it in. She pulled the braces over her shoulders and picked up the waistcoat. It was coarse wool, not as nice as any of Edward's fine garments, but as she shrugged it on she was pleased to note that it was tight, going some way to restraining her bosoms.

She heard the door unlatch again and hoped that it was Edward back with the suitcases.

"I've got you a different coat too," said Carlisle, "that black coat is a little distinctive."

"If I must," muttered Edward, and there was a brief rustling.

"Let me check the wound while you're undressing," said Carlisle.

"No need," said Edward, quietly but briskly, "it's healed now."

"Edward," replied Carlisle gently, "humour an old man. The last time we saw each other you had just been shot."

"Fine," said Edward and though she couldn't see him she could hear the words escaping through gritted teeth. She stood still, listening to their exchange. She heard further rustling then Carlisle breathed in, an audible intake of air.

"It's a mess," said Carlisle with an audible sigh. "And that scar? That's new."

"I may not be the sheriff any more," said Edward, she could hear his voice lighten a little, the sound that accompanied his smile, "but it doesn't mean that people have stopped wanting to shoot at me." They both laughed, the sound of friends who had known each other a long time and Bella chose that moment to make her reappearance from behind the screen.

"Damn," said Carlisle, rising to his feet from where he had been sitting prodding Edward, "we're going to have to find you a coat."

"Why?" she asked, her brows furrowing.

"Because if anybody sees your bottom," said Edward, slapping its meaty roundness irreverently as he too rose to his feet and pulling his own shirt back on in one swift movement, "they're never going to believe that you're a boy."

In less than half an hour they were on horseback, saddlebags filled with gold and jewels. Bella had a wide brimmed hat jammed over her hair, the final part of her disguise. As they left the back of the doctor's and made towards the main street she made to urge her horse into a gallop.

"Wait," said Edward urgently, grabbing her rein.

"Why?" she said, indignantly, "I thought we were intending to put as much distance between us and town before nightfall."

"We are," said Edward, "but we don't want to arouse suspicion. We take it slowly out of town and once we're out of sight we start going cross country as fast as we can."

"Fine," she replied, nodding curtly, but she felt as if the few people on the baked hard main street could see right through her disguise. Every movement, every gleam of a dusty window in the midday sun made her think that they had been rumbled. The palomino mare, feeling her nerves, jumped and pranced, spooking at little scrubby plants and discarded brown paper. It took all of her self control both to rein the horse in and to restrain her own instinct to take off.

Finally the town dwindled to a shimmering mirage on the horizon and they pulled bandanas up over their noses and mouth and urged the horses into a lope. They didn't stop to rest or eat until sundown, grabbing sips of water from a skin passed between them as they rode, constantly scanning the horizon for the tell-tale clouds of dust that would indicate pursuit.

"I think we can stop now," said Edward, pulling up his bay stallion and dragging the bandana from his face down to his neck. Bella pulled the game little palomino mare up too, the horse was heavily lathered in sweat and her sides heaved as they walked. "Over there," he said pointing to a red rock formation looming out of the desert perhaps a mile away, the tell tale splash of green

confirming that there was a water source, "that looks like a fine place to stop for the night." Bella pulled the bandana from her own face. Her lips and tongue were bone dry, dust in her mouth, nose and the very fabric of her lungs. Her legs and bottom ached, unaccustomed to riding so long and hard, or indeed to riding astride rather than her usual elegant side saddle.

It was pitch black, the last red streaks of desert sun long disappeared below the line of the horizon. Their fire was the only light visible, a beacon in the bleak landscape, a comfort against the rustles, rattles and blood curdling howls that permeated the still desert air. Edward and Bella sat side by side, backs against the hard rock, a slight overhang protecting them from the night air. Edward took a deep draught from a whiskey bottle and passed it to Bella. She took a sip, swallowing the burning liquid immediately then taking a second sip. She passed it back to Edward who shoved the cork back in the top of the bottle and sat it between them. It would be a long, dark, lonely night until the sun came up and they had to conserve their resources.

Bella was just dropping off to sleep when the sound of rattling close by brought her back to consciousness. She put a hand out to get Edward's attention but he was gone, her hand meeting only bare rock where he had been. She was alone. The firelight was dim and she couldn't see where the noise had come from. A slithering movement caught her eye. A snake. She backed up further against the wall, moving into a crouch position, trying to make herself invisible yet it slithered forward, coiling up again closer to her and shaking its tail threateningly. The rock was on two sides and the fire on a third so the snake was blocking her escape route. Her hand automatically went to her bosom to pull out the little knife yet the clothes were not her own and her hand came away empty. She gulped, not wanting to make a sound or movement that would incense the snake but trembling from the rush of adrenaline, ready to run although she had nowhere to go or to fight although she had no weapons but her bare hands. The snake moved closer, it's head weaving hypnotically, the forked tongue flicking in and out in a grotesque parody of a human getting ready to enjoy a delicious meal. It gathered itself as if to attack and she tensed, ready to try to jump over or away from it once it had committed to a course of action.

The snake moved and she took her opportunity, rolling clumsily off to the left while it had moved to her right. Yet even as she collected herself she saw that the snake's movement was unnatural, it's attack thwarted as it writhed on the ground, curling into a protective position. Her eyes trailed down it's diamond patterned length until she saw the knife sticking out of its tail and just beyond that, Edward. Her body flooded with relief at the sight of his face, illuminated in the firelight. He put his boot on the snake's body near it's head, pinning the injured animal into place. Then he pulled the knife out of it's tail and drove it into the snake's skull, despatching the danger quickly and humanely.

"Oh, Edward!" she cried, collapsing into a heap. In one swift movement he had thrown the snake's body to the side and crossed the distance between them in three momentous steps. He knelt down and gathered her in his arms, pulling her tightly to him. His presence combined with the adrenaline leaving her system made her tremble uncontrollably. He pulled her to his chest, cradling her against him, holding her so tight that she felt completely safe for the first time in longer then she could remember. He stroked her hair, burying his head in it and peppered the top of her head with fierce, possessive, kisses until finally the trembling subsided and she relaxed into him.

Feeling her leg deaden where it was curled beneath her she stirred, pulling herself to a more upright position. As she raised her head from his chest her eyes met his.

"Bella, Bella, Bella..." he breathed, his voice soothing as a lullaby. She couldn't pull her gaze away from his green eyes, framed as they were by the slick bronze hair that blazed in the light cast by the dying embers of the fire. Her lips and mouth suddenly felt dry and she gulped involuntarily, licking her lips to moisten them as she continued to stare into his eyes. It was all the invitation that he needed, a strangled groan escaping from his mouth as he pressed his lips against hers, pulling her body onto his lap. His lips mashed against hers, urgent and hard, a primal expression of his fear of what had happened and his tenderness towards her. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, angling her jaw to his, revelling in the scent of his hair oil and enjoying the feeling of tousling the bronze mass further from it's usual slick neatness with her hands and the desert dried texture of his lips as they kissed hers and the soft, tentative explorations of his tongue as it dove deeper and deeper, tasting her as if she was the exotic fruit of a desert mirage tasted by a long parched man.

He didn't ask her permission and she didn't stop him when he pulled the rough linen shirt over her head with ferocity rather than aplomb. She just gasped as he palmed the heavy globes of her breasts then took each swollen nipple in his mouth with an intensity that made her gasp out loud. He didn't ask permission when he pushed her to the ground and pulled off first her boots, then her breeches, then the form fitting long johns underneath. No, he didn't ask permission but the way that she spread her legs, running one finger down the length of her slit to show him exactly how ready she was, provided all of the encouragement that he needed. He pulled the braces from his shoulders and quickly pushed his trousers to his knees. She could see that he was large but when he took her it was almost too much, a burning, all-ecompassing pain that made her cry out loud. He stopped for a moment, stock still, the animal need in his eyes tempered by the very real concern that he would hurt her. The pain subsided as her body accommodated his girth and length. Suddenly it wasn't enough and she clawed his back, willing him to move, pulling him further into her, encouraging him to thrust into her with reckless abandon.

The rock was rough against her naked form but she revelled in it, urging him wordlessly to take her harder and faster, every laboured breath and moan and groan and skin scraped against rock a reminder that they were alive. There was no future for them and no past, just right now, a frenzied coupling, slaking the pent up sexual desire that had formed between them this past week. He changed his angle, pulling himself flatter so that his body rubbed against hers deliciously with each stroke, his elbow beside her head, his face dipped to hers to kiss her afresh as if he was a starving man and she his last meal. In a few strokes she was screaming her pleasure, wrapping her convulsing body around his as he poured himself into her centre.

Bella woke at dawn as the first warm glow of warm light appeared on the dark horizon. It was cold now, even with Edward's naked form curled into her back and the low fire in front of her, yet the dawn promised another blazing desert day ahead. She cuddled back against Edward for a moment, enjoying the fact that he nuzzled into her shoulder as he stirred. Last night had been amazing, their love making in the darkness frantic and ultimately fulfilling. Yet the light of the morning brought with it the lens of truth. Edward was an outlaw. However much they might have whispered promises to stay together forever and keep each other safe in their bubble of post coital bliss it was a dream that would never be realised. Bella had people relying on her, a family at Rhyolite that needed a future as well as a right now. Her share of the profit would provide that future. Edward represented a dream, that naive belief she held as a child that she would meet a man who would be her everything, a lover, a protector, a man that would be a friend and somebody to grow old with. She had thought that the naive part of herself was lost yet last night it had resurfaced, willing to be drawn into their whispered promises. More fool her.

Sighing, she slipped out of the warm cocoon and pulled on the clothes that had been hastily discarded the night before. The little palomino whickered a welcome but as Bella approached she saw that the horse was limping a little, lame from yesterday's exertions. She glanced back at Edward, still sleeping by the fire. She hated to leave him a lame horse but it would put more distance between them if she took his horse. He knew that she would go back to Ryholite but he had already made clear that he couldn't go there, that instead he would make his further West.

The bay stallion looked at her with white ringed eyes that smacked of spirit but he seemed obliging enough as she tightened the girth. Bella and Edward had shared out the haul equally the night before but she dutifully double checked his saddlebags one last time to make sure that none of his personal effects were left. The first one looked fine and she carefully buckled it back up. Unbuckling the second saddle bag she was curious to find a crumpled sheet of paper on top. She opened it and saw that it was a Wanted poster. She smoothed it out to see the face beneath it. Her face, rendered in crude black and white. Her legs stopped working, crumpling beneath her until her bottom hit the ground unceremoniously. The image and accompanying words flashed in front of her face in a dizzying nightmare.

Wanted

Isabella Whitlock (nee Swan)

For the murder of her husband

Jasper Whitlock

Suspect is 5' 6" with brown hair. She is Irish and escaped

the scene of the crime with infant daughter and one armed maid.

Reward $1,000

"I knew that you would leave," came Edward's voice from behind her, "I just didn't know that you wouldn't say goodbye." She turned her head to look at him, tears welling in her eyes. He had pulled on his breeches and boots, the breeches sliding low on his bare torso as the braces hung limply by his side.

"You knew," said Bella quietly, holding up the paper until he took a few steps forward and took it from her. "You knew exactly who I was."

"I did," said Edward, his face wary.

"But why?" said Bella. "You could have handed me in and taken the bounty." She searched his face for answers but none were forthcoming. "Even if you didn't want to make yourself known to the authorities you could have blackmailed me into helping you and taken the proceeds for yourself."

"I have to admit," said Edward with an embarrassed little smile, "both of those things had crossed my mind, hence why I scoped out the saloon for a while before approaching you." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I was a lawman once and I always take allegations like these with a good dose of common sense. I heard in a watering hole in South Dakota that the Whitlock man was abusive towards his wife and child and that it was his fault that the maid lost an arm." Bella looked away, not wanting to add fuel to the fire by admitting or denying his allegations. "I found when I met you that I couldn't bring myself to blackmail you. I didn't want to control you. Rather, I wanted you to help me for your own reasons."

"I did it for the money," said Bella, flatly.

"And you could have said no," he said, making her grimace. "But there was something between us, a sense of kindred spirit that made you join me. You wanted me as much as I wanted you."

"Wanted me?" she replied. "What about those nights in the hotels? Why didn't you...?" He sat down heavily beside her and she didn't stop him when he took her hand.

"I didn't want to take you just because I could."

"But I would have let you," her voice was petulant, childish, the naive youngster that expected a man to make himself her destiny.

"Let you?" He sounded angry now. "I'm a man of principle, I'm not going to take a woman just because she won't say no."

"And last night?" Her voice was small, this time driven by insecurity.

"Last night was the first time that I'd seen you anything less than completely in control of yourself." The hand that was not holding hers rose to her face and brushed across her lips briefly, leaving a warm tingle behind. She turned her head away, not wanting him to see the effect that he had on her. "When you clung to me after the snake attack I saw a chink in your armour. It was the first time that I believed that there was a part of you that would let me possess you the way that I want to. It was the first time that I genuinely believed that you needed me as much as I need you." He stared into the distance for a few moments, watching the glow of sun spread further across the horizon.

"Bella, I desperately want to ask you to come away with me but I know that it's not the right thing." She turned to face him again, the strong curve of his stubborn jaw silhouetted by the rising sun. He was still looking into the distance as he continued. "We're both outlaws but you've somehow managed to build a new identity and a new family. I was only there for a short time but it's plain that they need you. I can't and won't ask you to give them up for me. My face is known from Idaho to Texas and I'm pretty sure that once the robbery is discovered that they will twig that it was Edward Cullen behind it and put out a bounty on my head in Nevada too. Heck, it was just blind luck that we pulled the job off without discovery this time and every job I do just increases my notoriety. I would just put you in danger if I stayed with you."

He gripped her hand tight and the tears that had pooled in the bottom of her eyes spilled over. The naive child fought within her, urging this man to stay, to fill her with his love and his soul despite the danger. The sensible part of her, the hard part that had hidden Jasper's body in a place that would buy her enough time to get Renee and her badly hurt infant child out of the state, the part that had thought to take enough valuables to trade for a new identity, took control. A strong sense of self-preservation had kept her from the gallows this long and just as she had learned to trust it in the past she knew to listen to it now.

"Help me onto the horse then, the bay's a little bigger than I'm used to." He nodded and she could see the lump in this throat, the way that his lips trembled as he fought back his emotions. Without words he got to his feet and helped her up. He embraced her briefly, more businesslike than the hold of a lover. She tried to remember that moment, the way that he smelled, the way that he held her to him, the knotted scar on his shoulder, his slim waist, but there was too many details, too much of this man to take in. She deliberately avoided his eyes as he boosted her into the saddle then held onto the reins as she adjusted the stirrups and tucked her hair into the wide brimmed hat.

"Goodbye Edward," she tried to be strong but the tears flowed again and this time she didn't try to wipe them away.

"Goodbye Bella," his voice cracked and the tears that he had been holding back made his eyes wild and glassy. She didn't ask him exactly where he was going because that sort of knowledge was the kind of thing that could get them both strung up. His admission of his real name had already brought her further into his web of duplicity yet she appreciated the fact that he trusted her with that information. It gave her something real to remember him by, a name that she could roll over her tongue like a bitter-sweet sugary treat. He let go of the reins and she kicked the bay into a walk, then a trot. His hooves raised little plumes of dust with each step and she pulled up the bandana to protect her nose and mouth. The tears didn't stop but she made herself look forward, not back. In the cold light of day the decision was the correct one but she didn't think that her resolve would hold if she looked back and saw him watching her leave.

"Bella, you're back!" Jake, standing on the wooden verandah of the saloon to case out the stranger riding up the street was clearly pleased to see that it was her.

"I am," said Bella, sliding off of the horse. It was only grabbing onto the saddle bag as she hit the ground that stopped her exhausted legs crumpling underneath her. She had ridden for twenty four hours straight to get back to Rhyolite, stopping only for the most urgent calls of nature. "Could you put the contents of the saddlebags into the safe and ask Renee to heat the water for a bath?"

"I surely can," he said, helping her wobbly form up the stairs with a strong arm.

The girls fussed and flapped around her, oohing and aahing at the her strange attire and then the sight of the loot. She let them fuss, answering their questions with brief, non-committal answers but when the copper bath was full she shooed them out of the room and locked the door. The breath rushed out of her chest in a half sigh, half groan as she eased her aching muscles into the hot water, little scratches and raw patches on her lower back and bottom reminding her of the rough ground scraping against them in delicious pain but two nights previously. Yet with stillness came sadness. Her share of the proceeds would secure the future of the saloon, giving the girls a future beyond whoring and moving her into a whole new, legitimate business sphere. So why did the tears flow down her cheek unchecked? Why did her whole body rack with sobs so visceral that they seemed to rip into her soul as well as her body? Why did giving up Edward Cullen feel like the hardest thing that she had ever had to do in a life already dogged by hardship? She let the sorrow possess her, working through her until the water was cold and the girls knocked at the door in concern.

As the sun went down and the room fell into darkness she rose from the cold water, drying herself briefly and getting back into a silk gown of gay red silk. It felt strange after her masculine attire of the last few days. She called Renee in to help her with the final fastenings then put the little Derringer into the skirt pocket, the knife back into the bodice and the larger knife into her boot. Smoothing her skirts she painted on a smile and opened the door to the bustling saloon just as Renee turned the handle to bring the hurdy gurdy organ burst back into jangling life.

Self Indulgent Authors Note:

Yes, an authors note of this length is dreadfully self indulgent but Outlaw is more than just a story for me, it's the culmination of a passion that has been building for some time.

I love the USA and visit from the UK as often I can. In 2014 I spent nearly two weeks in Nevada/California, splitting my time between the glitz of Las Vegas and the natural attractions such as Valley of Fire and Death Valley. It's fair to say that I fell in love with Death Valley when the husband and I hired a 4x4 and drove around the salt flats, canyons and ghost towns. Rhyolite, the town where Outlaw is set, particularly captured my imagination. It had been a thriving mining town, even sporting a railway line, until they realised that the gold seam was not as rich as anticipated and the town literally died. The boom and bust against the harsh backdrop of Death Valley really captured my imagination.

It was in the Shoshone Museum where I picked up the next piece of the jigsaw puzzle for Outlaw; a book by Anne Seagraves called "Soiled Doves: Prostitution in the Early West." It had been published in 1994 and from the strange look that the elderly female cashier gave me I'm pretty sure that it had been sitting on the shelf since then! The book was an eye opener, stories of strong, independent women working in a fragile new world where prostitution was one of the few careers available to them. There was tragedy and heartache but there were also savvy women who built up legitimate business empires, even if they would never quite be able to get rid of the stigma of their roots.

I really wanted to write a story where the heroine was female, not the squeaky clean frontier wives of Western cinema or the faceless whores of grittier dramas but a real heroine, surviving in the new West against the odds, in spite of and not because of the actions of men. Bella is now that lady for me; fiercely protective of her extended family, a business woman with an eye for a deal and a soft underbelly that only our hero Edward has ever managed to reveal.

This isn't the end for these two, truly it isn't. For me this is a cinematic epic sprawling years, even decades; an unconventional love story set against the rise and fall of a fragile mining economy and a country about to face the realities of the First World War. Will there be a happy ending? Even I'm not sure of that yet although there will surely be moments of happiness along the way. Put this on alert and you can ride along with me (pun intended).

Lady Letters x