THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY

by Lorraine Heath

  Lee shook his head. "I don't know."

  "What were you thinking to drag her off?"

  He sighed heavily. "For five years no one has seen my face. I wanted to protect my identity. In retrospect, a stupid move."

  "Hurry up, puta!" Jorge called out. "We don't have much time."

  "Jorge!" Lee scolded. "Do not call her that, hombre. It does not make you tough. It only makes you mean."

  "We are outlaws. We are supposed to be mean," Jorge retorted like a petulant child before crouching to set the branches he'd gathered into place.

  "I told you not to bring him," Alejandro said.

  "What choice did I have? He was shadowing our trail. I would rather have him where I can see him than find out that he is in trouble and I cannot get there in time to save him."

  "You saved us once," Alejandro said quietly. "You cannot save us always."

  "I can try. I owe it to the memory of our parents to always try."

  "They would not expect you—"

  "I expect it of myself, Alejandro. That is the way of it."

  Lee returned his attention to the woman. She was incredibly slow at gathering kindling, shuffling her feet along the ground. He smiled with the knowledge that she was attempting to stall them. She lurched forward and quickly caught her balance.

  "She will slow us down," Alejandro said.

  "Sí. If we have to, we will split up."

  "That is a very nice dress she is wearing," Alejandro murmured. "Perhaps she has a rich husband who will pay a ransom for her."

  "She has no husband," Lee assured him—and she had far too much green material. The puffy sleeves had gotten in his way when he'd struggled to subdue her. The bodice rose to her neck, where a collar circled her throat, every button snugly secure. She only exposed the flesh of her face and hands, and yet she was a temptation he could not explain. Perhaps because she left too much to a man's imagination. Yet he had a feeling that once a man saw what was beneath all that cloth, he would work diligently to keep it uncovered. "She would have been warming his bed, not walking the streets at midnight."

  "You find her attractive?" Alejandro asked.

  Incredibly so. More than her petite frame, her lush coloring, and her delicate features, he was attracted by the untamed spirit he'd felt in her when he'd first grabbed her. She was no simpering female willing to follow. She would fight tooth and nail to achieve what she wanted, and right now she craved freedom. He did rot trust her, but she lured him like a siren's song. "She is not so hard on the eyes."

  "Her hair is too red for my taste," Alejandro said.

  "I like her hair. It reminds me of…" Something teased his memory, a glimpse into a past he could not remember. Quickly unveiled only to be hidden once again.

  "What? What does it remind you of?" Alejandro asked.

  Lee shook his head. "The flames dancing in a fire."

  "Then you must be careful, brother. With her, you could get burned."

  A price he imagined any man without a bounty on his head would be more than willing to pay. He was damned near tempted himself as he watched the morning shafts of sunlight tease her hair and play over the delicate slope of her shoulders. She stumbled again.

  "She is a clumsy one," Alejandro remarked.

  Narrowing his eyes, Lee studied her more closely. She held out one hand as though to fend off an attacker, when the only thing before her was a copse of trees. She pitched forward once more.

  "Damn it!" Lee barked. He shoved himself away from the tree, strode across the clearing, grabbed the woman's arm, and spun her around.

  He raked his gaze over her and released a slew of expletives designed to make Satan blush before announcing with disgust at his own stupidity, "She is not clumsy. She is blind! I had no reason to take her."

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "I am not blind!"

  Denying the truth, Angela wrenched free of Lee Raven's unrelenting grasp. The derision in his voice—as though the knowledge he'd gained suddenly made her not worthy of abducting—rankled.

  "It does rot bother you to have a man standing before you who is not wearing a stitch of clothing?" he asked in a voice that reminded her of the manner in which whiskey burned her throat.

  Bluff riddled his words; it was as worthless as a man holding nothing but daring to wager everything he possessed. She angled her chin defiantly and narrowed her eyes.

  "You haven't removed your denim britches or your chambray shirt." Clothing that fit him so snugly she'd been able to feel the heat of his flesh penetrating her gown as they'd galloped away from Fortune.

  "You accurately identified my clothing, señorita, but you do not know if I am still wearing it," he mused, and this time she heard the humor laced in his low-pitched voice and could almost envision him shaking his finger at her. "I bluff. You bluff. I bet you would make an excellent poker player."

  "I'm one hell of a poker player," she snapped, having left her patience on the boardwalk outside the bank in Fortune. "And you can stop talking with that irritatingly fake Mexican accent."

  "What?"

  He sounded truly baffled, but she didn't think she'd read him wrong. Beneath his Mexican accent was a shadow of another, faint and distant. "I know you're not Mexican," she insisted.

  "Mi madre y mi padre would argue otherwise. Eh, Alejandro?" Then he spewed off a tangle of Spanish that made her doubt her convictions, not that he necessarily had to be Mexican to speak so fluently.

  The man he called Alejandro responded in kind. She identified his voice as belonging to the man who'd originally questioned Raven's actions outside the bank. Alejandro's voice carried no shadows, and she recognized the tone of familial love reverberating between them. Their apparent teasing banter made absolutely no sense to her, was contrary to her perception of desperadoes.

  "Enough already!" she shouted, slashing her hand through the air. "You've made your point."

  "Why didn't you tell me you were blind?" he demanded.

  She dropped the pitiful bundle of twigs she'd gathered, planted her hands on her hips, and leaned forward slightly. "I tried, you idiot! But then you shoved that filthy piece of cloth—"

  "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, señorita. I gifted you with my favorite bandanna. I do not think you know who you are insulting."

  "Lee Raven."

  Silence, thick and heavy, permeated the air and she wondered if she'd been too brazen. To the disappointment of the few men who had deemed her worth courting, however briefly, docility had never been one of her character traits.

  "Then you must know, señorita," he said silkily, "that it would behoove you to behave."

  "It would behoove you to let me go. My father is an extremely influential man."

  "Alejandro guessed that much. Perhaps your father would be willing to pay a handsome ransom to have you returned unharmed."

  "What he will do," she said in a curt voice as though she were talking to someone who had nothing under his hat but hair, "is contact Captain Christian Montgomery of the Texas Rangers and have your head delivered to him on a silver platter."

  "Kit Montgomery?" he asked mockingly. "Your father knows Kit Montgomery?"

  "Yes. They're extremely close friends."

  "Alejandro, her father knows the famous Kit Montgomery. Can you believe this?"

  "Which means you've stepped into a pile of cow dung," Alejandro said.

  She bit back her smile of satisfaction at the man's adequate description of the situation. Kit Montgomery's legends were indeed rooted in fact, which meant this outlaw's days of freedom were numbered.

  "I don't think so," Raven said. "He is in west Texas. We are in south central Texas. We are safe."

  "The hell you are. My father will send him a telegram, and Captain Montgomery won't hesitate to come."

  Not only because he was her father's best friend, but because he, too, had experienced the anguish of losing a child. The grief rolled through her with the reminder, and she forced back the m
emory of her failure to protect his son.

  She couldn't dwell on the past now. She had to focus on the present if she intended to play well this hand she'd unexpectedly been dealt. "He can track down a whisper in a strong wind."

  "I'm shaking in my boots," he said caustically.

  "I know. I can feel the ground trembling."

  "But you cannot see me shaking," he said in a seductive voice, his breath skimming along her cheek. She resisted the urge to recoil at the intimate contact. She would not grant him the satisfaction of intimidating her.

  "Your eyes are so expressive that for a moment I almost thought I was mistaken."

  She wanted to slap his face, but she feared she might have already pushed her boundaries with this man to their limit. "You're right. I have absolutely no earthly idea what you look like. Therefore you have no reason to keep me."

  This was a small lie. Based upon where her head had hit his chest when he'd first grabbed her, she knew he was an inch or so taller than her father. Remembering the way his arms had come around her on the horse, cradling her protectively, she knew he had broad shoulders. A washboard stomach. Iron thighs. Gentle hands. His hands had surprised her when he'd lifted her off the horse as though he truly worried that he might hurt her, and she could detect no tender spots to indicate that he'd bruised her when he'd fought to subdue her outside the bank.

  "It is not that simple. The posse will be hours behind us. I cannot leave you here unprotected, and I won't wait for help to arrive and risk capture."

  "I'll be perfectly fine waiting alone," she assured him.

  "What happens when that rattler coiled over there decides to move from the shade into the sun?" he asked.

  Honestly, how many times did the man think he could bluff before she'd call? "There is no rattler."

  She heard a popping sound, bones snapping as though he'd crouched. A dull thud reverberated as a small object hit a nearby tree, followed by a sharp raffle, then the sickening swishing of something slithering along the ground.

  An icy shiver rippled through her, and she fought to keep her face a mask of stoicism while her heart thudded against her ribs. "Apparently I was mistaken about the snake, but he's gone now. I'll take my chances."

  "It's not that simple," he repeated.

  Anger surging through her, she latched onto the most improbable thing to say. "It is that simple. I'd rather take my chance with a poisonous snake than a vicious murderer!"

  "Unfortunately, señorita, the decision is not yours to make."

  * * *

  Lee stared at the writhing flames of the small fire as Alejandro cooked the hare he'd managed to snare. Lee knew they would be wise to keep riding, but the horses needed to rest, and his brothers would do better with something in their stomachs. As for the woman…

  He sighed, a useless release of breath that did nothing to assuage his concerns. He'd made many mistakes in his life, but this one was by far the stupidest. It would serve the contrary lady right if he abandoned her to her own devices. Unfortunately, his mother had raised him better than to do that to a woman. Even one who possessed a sharp tongue. He had been called the worst of names, but having her refer to him as a vicious murderer had cut deeply.

  She sat on the ground nearby, her legs folded beneath her. Earlier she'd pulled a deck of cards from her skirt pocket. After shuffling with a grace that had amazed him, she had set about laying down cards, one after another, creating seven stacks. Now she flipped the cards over one at a time and rearranged them on the stacks. She looked incredibly peaceful … yet her absolute absence of fear bothered him. A female who lacked apprehension was a dangerous thing.

  He cursed harshly. They'd gotten such a good head start. She would slow them down. He had a feeling she would deliberately slow them down.

  Alejandro removed his catch from the flames. Lee unfolded his body and sauntered to the fire. "Four ways."

  Alejandro glanced up at him. "You have to eat."

  His brother knew him too well. "Four ways," he insisted. He would not have his brothers take less because of his idiocy.

  With a shake of his head, Alejandro began to divvy up the hare. "Could this situation get any worse?" He shot a look at the woman. "She is blind."

  Lee shrugged. "She does not appear to be helpless."

  "Her father is a friend of a legendary Texas Ranger."

  Lee gave a brisk nod. "That could be a problem." He held up a hand when Alejandro opened his mouth. "But I will handle it."

  "You should just leave her," Alejandro insisted. "That is what she wants, and what would be best for us."

  "But it is as you say, Alejandro, she is blind." And so lovely that he found it difficult to breathe whenever he was near her. He took the tin plate Alejandro held out. "Gracias."

  He walked over to the woman and crouched before her.

  "You need to rub some grease onto your knees," she said bluntly as she lifted the five of hearts and set it on the six of clubs.

  "What?"

  "Whenever you squat, your knees sound like a cork popping out of an old bottle of wine."

  He glanced briefly at his bent legs. "I never noticed." He studied the cards she'd laid out. Red. Black. Red. Black. Red. Black. The ones showing were in order. Queens or top of kings. Jacks on top of queens. "How do you manage to do that when you cannot see?" he asked, mystified.

  "My father marked the deck and taught me how to read it."

  He raised a brow. "So your influential father is knowledgeable in the ways of cheating."

  "He's a gambler. Right now, I imagine he's wagering on whether or not you'll beg for mercy before he kills you."

  Anger rolled through him. "I do not beg, señorita. Not for any man or any thing."

  She angled her chin and, with irritating calm, moved a card. "We'll see."

  Her hands weren't even shaking. How could she not be terrified? She was the captive of the notorious Lee Raven, and she acted as though she were merely attending a Sunday afternoon picnic. Although he wanted only to instill terror in Shelby's heart, he thought this woman should show him a measure of respect and have a slight tremor in her voice. But no, she exhibited no signs of fear … but then, what did a person who lived in darkness fear? The light?

  He touched her hand. With a grimace, she snatched it back. He barely acknowledged the insult because to do otherwise would force him to open himself up to hurt, and that he could not afford to do. "I have some food for you."

  "I'm not hungry." She placed the four of spades on the five of hearts.

  He sighed deeply with frustration. "You need to eat, señorita."

  "I need to go home."

  "I will take you home. Just not today."

  She closed her eyes as though to shut out the world. He wondered why she did that when she couldn't see. She opened her eyes. Such a brilliant green. It was a sin that they could not see the beauty that surrounded them. "What were you doing walking the streets at midnight?" he asked quietly.

  "None of your business."

  He set the plate on her lap. "Eat. If you do not, I will. I would think you would prefer I know hunger rather than the satisfaction of a full belly."

  He watched as she set the cards aside before gingerly touching her fingers to the plate, searching cautiously until she found a strip of meat. She brought it to the most luscious mouth he'd ever seen. He imagined her smile, how glorious it would look. And how she would never know.

  "Stop staring at me," she ordered.

  "How do you know I'm staring?"

  "Because I didn't hear you leave and there's nothing else to look at."

  "You are wrong, señorita. There are many things to gaze at: the sky, the trees, and the mockingbird in the nest with her babies."

  "Three babies," she said, while a small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

  Something unfamiliar tightened in his chest. "How do you know there are three?"

  "Am I right?" she asked hopefully, and even if she were wrong, at that moment,
he knew he would have lied.

  "Sí."

  "Each one sounds a little different."

  "They sound the same to me."

  "Because your world is bigger than mine," she said without any self-pity. She slipped another strip of meat into her mouth.

  "What is your name?" he asked.

  She hesitated, and he could see the battle raging as, like him, she tried to determine how much she could reveal and still remain safe. "Angela Bainbridge."

  "Angela," he murmured, testing it out. Something flickered in his mind. "Angel."

  Her good humor fled. "Don't call me that."

  "But you look like an angel."

  "I'm not an angel."

  "You are right. You may look like one, but you do not sound like one. You have a temper."

  She scoffed. "I was abducted. I think I have a right to be angry."

  "You have the right to be angry, but not stupid. You must realize that you have no choice but to come with us."

  "I can stay right here and take my chances."

  He dug his elbows into his thighs and clasped his hands into an aching grip. "With us you will not be taking a chance. My brothers and I will not hurt you."

  "You murdered a man," she pointed out. "In a cowardly manner from all accounts."

  "A man, but I have never harmed a woman. You will be safe with us. I cannot guarantee that you will be safe if we leave you."

  "I don't need nor do I want your guarantees."

  "But I need them. I am a man of honor."

  "You are a murderer and a thief."

  "I will not argue that some aspects of my life are questionable, but not when it comes to my treatment of women."

  "I don't understand why you can't circle back around and return me to the edge of town today."

  "I do not know how the posse will fan out. Once I know that my brothers are safe, I will take you back. I promise."

  "Why are you telling me all this?" she asked. "You could just force me as you did before."

  "If I have to, I will. I would rather not have to," he said solemnly.

  "If I agree to cooperate, will you promise not to stuff that filthy cloth into my mouth?" she asked.