by Connie Mason
"Yes sir," Rafe said without hesitation. He could lie as easily as Sister Angela when it meant his life. "I decided to meet Angela in Ordway instead of Pueblo." His silver gaze bored into Angela. "We've been parted a long time and I grew impatient to see her again. That's the only reason I happened to be on the road when the stagecoach was attacked."
"I've known Rafe all my life," Angela added. "He couldn't kill anyone."
"That's it, then," Reverend Conrad intoned authoritatively. "Sister Angela has no earthly reason to lie. Obviously you have the wrong man, sheriff."
Disappointment made the mob restive and they surged forward. They had been primed for a hanging and Rafe's greatest fear was that they didn't give a hoot if he was innocent, as long as they were provided with entertainment.
Reverend Conrad must come to the same conclusion for he turned to the crowd and held up his hands for quiet.
"My good people," he intoned in a deep voice that commanded instant respect. "If Sister Angela says this man is innocent, that's good enough for me. If any of you wish to dispute her word, please step forward and speak your piece."
Rafe held his breath. No one moved, though some clearly wanted to. Who would dare look into an angel's face and call her a liar? Even Sheriff Tattersal appeared unwilling to challenge Reverend Conrad and Sister Angela.
"You heard the Reverend, men. Let Gentry go," Tattersal growled as he removed the rope from Rafe's neck.
Someone untied his hands and hauled him off the horse. Rafe dragged in a shaky breath and massaged his neck where the rope had chafed his skin raw. Though no one appeared willing to debate Rafe's innocence, the crowd was still dissatisfied and restive. Rafe seriously doubted he'd make it out of town alive if he were to try to leave now.
But once again Reverend Conrad came to his rescue. He seemed to sense the ugly mood and immediately sought to diffuse it. He glanced at Angela, then at Rafe, and smiled, as if he had just arrived at a remarkable decision.
"My friends, I know you came out tonight expecting to witness a hanging but I have something more appropriate in mind. We shall have a wedding instead. Sister Angela and her fiancé intended to marry in Pueblo. Since he has seen fit to join her in Ordway, it will be my pleasure to perform the ceremony immediately. You are all invited to the revival tent to celebrate the marriage of Sister Angela and her young man."
General pandemonium ensued. A muscle worked in Rafe's jaw. Tension kept him upright. But short of admitting he was not Angela's fiancé, there was nothing he could do but agree to the good Reverend's outrageous suggestion. He cast a sidelong glance at the devious angel and was gratified to note that she appeared as stunned as he. He braced himself, waiting for her to voice her objection. But all she did was clamp her lips tightly together and glare at him. Fortunately Reverend Conrad seemed not to notice.
Come along, children," the Reverend said, beaming. He turned to the crowd. "Someone fetch Sister Grace. This calls for music. The piano is still in the revival tent and she knows the wedding march by heart."
"Do something!" Rafe hissed beneath his breath, "unless you want to be saddled with a husband. What about that fiancé waiting for you in Pueblo?"
"I want you for a husband no more than you want me for a wife," Angela shot back. "Short of admitting the truth and sending you back to the hanging tree, I don't know what to say."
"Damn!"
The crowd surged forward, sweeping Rafe and Angela with it toward the revival tent. The mood had turned abruptly from ugly to jovial. But Rafe knew it would take very little for the situation to turn again, and he was determined to do whatever it took to save his neck. But marriage?
Angela stared at Rafe Gentry. Though intuition told her he wasn't a killer, a kernel of doubt existed. How could she marry a man she knew nothing about? The dilemma she faced seemed insurmountable. Either she admit Rafe wasn't her fiancé and let him hang, or continue with the farce that was becoming more bizarre by the minute. Was he completely innocent of the crime of which he'd been accused? Lord knows he looked rough enough and tough enough to be a killer. But in the end it was his eyes that convinced her to save him. Those mesmerizing silver orbs held no killer instincts.
The crowd swelled, filling the tent beyond its limits. Rafe and Angela were literally pushed along with the Reverend to the front of the makeshift church. Sister Grace, having been alerted, was seated at the piano, grinning from ear to ear.
"And now children," Reverend Conrad intoned, turning to face the crowd, "shall we begin?"
"We really planned to be married in Pueblo," Angela said in a last ditch effort to escape this travesty. A husband, even a temporary one, had no place in her future.
"Nonsense," the Reverend boomed in a voice brooking no argument. "I'd be remiss in my duty if I sent you two young people off without benefit of marriage. I know how impetuous youngsters can be these days." He turned to Rafe. "Do you have the ring?"
"It's...right here," Rafe said, shocking Angela. With shaking fingers he removed his mother's wedding ring from his vest pocket. He had taken it when he and his brothers had divided money and keepsakes before they had ridden away from the farm with the posse hard on their heels. Angela stared at the gold band he had retrieved from his pocket as if it were a snake about to bite her.
"Excellent," Reverend Conrad said. "Having a wedding ring on your person should allay any lingering doubts about your innocence," he contended, directing his remarks at those still skeptical members of the lynching party.
"Get on with it, Reverend," someone in the crowded tent called out.
Rafe's muttered a coarse obscenity.
Angela heard and shared the sentiment. What was she getting herself into? Abruptly she realized the sacrifice was too great and opened her mouth to stop this mockery.
Something in her demeanor must have tipped Rafe off for he gripped her arm and hissed, "Don't. You started this, you owe it to me to see it through."
Angela stared at him and shook her head. "I can't."
His grip tightened and his silver eyes glittered. "You can and you will. I don't know what you intended when you intervened, but the die is cast. You can't recant now."
She sensed his desperation and knew that it matched her own. Never in her wildest dreams did she think her rash act would end like this. But Rafe Gentry was right. He had come to her defense once, she could do no less than return the favor. There were ways to end a marriage, after all. Stiffening her spine, she nodded to the Reverend, giving him permission to begin.
Sister Grace thrummed softly on the piano and the Reverend opened the Good Book. His voice was a blur of words as Rafe's thoughts raced. He wondered how long it would take to shake the dirt of Ordway from his boots and leave Sister Angela behind in the dust. Though this farcical marriage had saved his life, he had no intention on honoring it. Sister Angela's reasons for lying to save his life were none of his business. He had his own agenda, his own needs, and they didn't include a wife.
He must have responded in the right place for the next thing he knew the Reverend was prodding him to place the ring on Angela's finger.
Focused once again, he reached for Angela's left hand and shoved the wedding band into place. It fit perfectly.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Rafe stared at Angela's lips. They were full, ripe and slightly moist, as if she had just wet them with her tongue. He could hear the crowd in the background, clamoring for the kiss. His gaze shifted upward, to her eyes, stunned to see them wide and slightly unfocused. He cupped her chin. She blinked. Then he slipped his hand to her nape, beneath the silken halo of hair.
With slow, steady pressure he brought her forward to meet his lips.
He had meant the kiss to be a brief touching of lips, nothing as dramatic as what really happened. Her lips were soft, her breath sweetly scented. He slanted his mouth over hers and was lost in sensations totally foreign to Rafe Gentry, a man who loved well and loved often without engaging emotion
s.
The scent of her hair and skin were intoxicating. Subtle yet wildly arousing. He deepened the kiss, nudging her mouth open with his tongue. Her tentative, somewhat breathless response emboldened him and he thrust his tongue past her teeth to explore the delicate inside of her mouth. He sensed her shock, her outrage, but some perverse devil inside him drove him to kiss her until he heard the Reverend clear his throat. Only then did he become aware of the hoots and cheers reverberating through the tent.
Abruptly he broke off the kiss. Angela swayed, as if slightly unbalanced, and he steadied her with his hand upon her elbow.
"I was right to marry you two right away," Reverend Conrad said. "Especially after witnessing that rather spectacular display. I wish you much happiness and many children. If Sister Grace will bring me the church register, we'll make this legal in the eyes of the God and the law."
Sister Angela murmured something Rafe didn't catch as Sister Grace produced pen and inkwell and the register that went with them wherever they traveled. Reverend Conrad presented it to the newlyweds.
With great reluctance Rafe signed first, then handed the book to Angela. She took a long time studying the page, but finally set her name to it. Meanwhile, Reverend Conrad prepared a paper they could carry with them as proof of their marriage.
"The marriage has been duly recorded in the church register and will be entered in the church records in Wichita," Reverend Conrad explained. "This is for your own records," he added, indicating the marriage document awaiting Rafe and Angela's signature.
Angela appeared incapable of movement so Rafe signed the document first, then handed it to Angela. She gave him a blank stare but signed it nevertheless. Then Rafe took it upon himself to thank Reverend Conrad for both of them.
"Will you leave immediately or travel with us on the morrow?" Conrad asked. "I understand we're traveling in the same direction."
"I don't know if going to Pueblo at this time is wise," Sheriff Tattersal said as he joined the group. "I've been meaning to speak with you before you left. We just got word that Comanche renegades are raising a ruckus in the area. No one knows where they're headed next. Perhaps it's best if everyone remain in Ordway until the danger is over."
"Indians?" Sister Grace said, edging closer to her husband. Her plump hand flew to her throat and her lined face crinkled in fear. "Oh, Clarence, let's do return to Wichita. We're nearly at the end of our itinerary anyway."
"Hmmm, perhaps you're right, my dear. Thank you for your advice, sheriff, but I think we'll return to Wichita thing in the morning." He slid a concerned glance at Angela. "Maybe you should rethink your plans to continue West to your father's claim, sister."
Angela gave her bright curls a vigorous shake. "Oh, no, Reverend, that's impossible. I'm sure my...husband and I will be perfectly safe. It's imperative that I reach Canyon City and the Golden Angel."
Rafe gave Angela a sharp look, having no idea what she was talking about, though he intended to find out at the first opportunity.
"Very well, sister," the reverend said somewhat doubtfully. "Sister Grace and I will pray for your safe journey."
"As I will pray for yours," Angela replied.
"The town has a mighty fine hotel," Tattersal offered.
"I think my...wife," he choked on the word, "and I will leave immediately," Rafe said. He didn't want to stick around Ordway any longer than necessary.
"I agree," Angela concurred."
"I hope you're not making a mistake," the reverend said. "Come along, Grace, the hour grows late."
Rafe watched everyone leave with a sense of dread. He had no idea what Angela had in mind, or her destination, for that matter. In fact, he knew nothing about her, except that she was dedicated to saving souls, the kind of women he usually steered clear of. Those kind of women were usually stiff as starch and holier than thou, trying to reform every soul they met. Well, he had news for Sister Angela. He was beyond redemption and had no intention of reforming.
Furthermore, he didn't intend sticking around long enough for Sister Angela to lay into him with her preaching. Once they left Ordway behind she was on her own. By now posters were probably circulating with his picture on them and he needed to put distance between himself and Kansas.
His thoughts turned to his brothers, Jess and Sam, and he offered a quick prayer for their safety. They were as close as brothers could get and he hoped they weren't encountering the same problems he was.
"Are you ready to leave?" Angela asked, cutting into his reverie. "I'm serious about reaching Canyon City as quickly as possible."
"I'm ready if you are, wife," Rafe shot back.
"You don't have to be so sarcastic about it," Angela huffed as she made her way from the tent. "I just saved your skin."
"And gained a husband in the bargain," he reminded her as he followed her outside.
"My wagon is behind the tent. We have but to hitch the horses and leave." She led the way around to the back of the tent.
Rafe fumed in silent rage. Did she actually think he was going to travel with her? She might be temptingly beautiful and sexually arousing, but she wasn't his kind of woman. Besides, had he wanted a wife he would have stayed in Dodge and married the banker's daughter.
All this he kept to himself as he hitched the team to the wagon.
"My horse is at the livery and the sheriff still has my guns," Rafe said. "You go on, I'll catch up with you."
He turned away before Angela could form a reply, only to be brought up short when the sheriff appeared in the darkness, leading his horse.
"Thought I'd save you the trouble of claiming your horse," Tattersal said. "Brought your guns, too. You might need them."
Rafe's lips thinned. "Much obliged." He shoved the twin Colts into his empty holster.
"You two climb aboard, I'll tie Gentry's horse to the tailgate," Tattersal said.
"Damn, damn, double damn," Rafe muttered beneath his breath. Nothing was going his way. Now he was forced to sit beside the tempting church woman, lusting after her while she remained untouchable.
"Did you say something?" Angela asked as she clambered onto the un-sprung seat.
"Not a damn thing," Rafe said, climbing up beside her and taking up the reins.
"Good luck," Tattersal called as the horses jolted off. "Sorry about the misunderstanding, Gentry. Rest assured we'll capture those men responsible for the killings."
An uneasy silence descended as the moon rose higher in the sky and the horses picked their way along the uneven road. Angela wondered what Rafe Gentry was thinking and hoped he didn't expect marital rights just because a preacher said words over them.
Strangers. That's what they were. Strangers with nothing in common. Whatever devil had prompted her to claim him as her fiancé had long since abandoned her. She cast a surreptitious glance at him from beneath lowered lids. A wedge of moonlight revealed tightly clenched jaw, high, unshaven cheekbones, shuttered lids framed by indecently long black eyelashes, and full lips.
His expression was shuttered, but instinct warned Angela that he was angry. She couldn't blame him. She was angry, too. No, dismayed was a better word. She had no idea her rash action would lead to such dire consequences.
Married. Lord, her stepfather and Anson Chandler, the man who expected to marry her and gain a gold mine in the bargain, would be livid.
Angela's unease intensified when Rafe pulled the wagon into a stand of trees that hid them almost completely from the road.
"Why are we stopping?"
"This is as good a place as any to bed down. If I'm not mistaken, I hear the sound of water rushing over rocks somewhere nearby." He jumped from the wagon and came around to lift her down. "I'll take care of the horses while you look for the stream. Are you hungry?"
"No, I ate earlier."
"So did I. When you return from the stream, there's a lot a questions that need answering."
Angela slanted him a disgruntled look and disappeared inside the wagon for towel and soap. The
n she stalked off in search of the stream. She didn't have far to look. She just followed the sound of bubbling water and came upon a narrow brook several yards behind their campsite. She took her time washing, contemplating her answers to the questions Rafe was sure to ask. He deserved answers, she supposed, but how much truth should she tell him?
A twig snapped behind and she whirled, relaxing somewhat when she recognized the impressive contours of Rafe's powerful body silhouetted in the moonlight. She shivered despite the warm night. Everything about him suggested latent strength and virility.
He walked like a man on the prowl, pelvis slanted forward, arms relaxed. Despite his calm facade, Angela sensed the tension coiled within him. He wore his twin Colts as if they were a part of his skin and Angela was willing to bet he knew how to use them.
"What's taking you so long? Don't you know it's dangerous to linger out here alone? Pick up your towel and come to bed, Mrs. Gentry."
Angela froze. Mrs. Gentry? Just what did he expect from her? Hands on hips, chin tilted at a stubborn angle, she lashed out at him.
"I'll never be a real wife to you, Rafe Gentry! If you're thinking about taking advantage of me, let me set you straight."
"No, let me set you straight, lady," Rafe said harshly. "I never wanted a wife and have no intention of complicating my life by bedding a woman bent on saving my soul. All I want from you are answers. There has to be a reasonable explanation why you married a virtual stranger. And don't try to tell me it was to save my life."
Angela lifted her chin and stalked past him.
"Ungrateful wretch!" she muttered in passing.
Chapter Two
Desire battered Rafe. The only thing he could think of was how badly he wanted to kiss Angela. He remembered the lush softness of her lips and touched his own with his fingertips, recalling the sweet innocence of her response when he'd kissed her at their wedding ceremony.
If he was the kind of man to take advantage of a woman he wouldn't hesitate to take what he wanted. In the eyes of the law, bedding Angela was his legal right as her husband. Unfortunately it seemed almost sacrilegious to touch so pure an angel. But Rafe never pretended to be a saint. Far from it. He could hold out only so long against the overwhelming temptation his Angel presented. The best thing he could do for Sister Angela was to put distance between them. And that's exactly what he intended to do, as soon as he had the answers he sought.
