Praise “You can’t blame me,” Millie argued. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Copyright

Praise for

Liz Ireland’s first

historical romance—

CECILIA AND

THE STRANGER

“CECILIA AND THE

STRANGER, with its

small town hominess and

subtle humor, is a heart

warming, thoroughly

enjoyable read.”

—Romantic Times

“Laughter abounds as Jake

and Cecilia butt heads at

every turn... A marvelous

tale from start to finish.”

—Rendezvous

“You can’t blame me,” Millie argued.

No, he couldn’t, Sam admitted to himself. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t gotten the fool notion about Millie’s dress into his head, he could have gone on thinking about her as a...well, a troublesome hostage. But now he was going to be hard pressed to look at her again without thinking of her as she appeared at this moment, that camisole sticking to her collarbone and cleavage, her petticoats outlining her tiny waist, hips and shapely legs.

Damn. He trained his eyes away, toward the spot where they’d left the horses. “All right. It’s my fault. Now hurry up and get your clothes on.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “First you want them off, now you want them on! And all the while you keep pointing that gun at me—how do you expect me to act efficiently under these circumstances?”

Patience! Sam told himself....

Dear Reader,

Liz Ireland’s first book, Man Trap, won her the RT Award for Best Silhouette Romance of the Year in 1993. Now this talented young author has turned her hand to historical novels and we are delighted to be able to bring you her newest title, Millie and the Fugitive. This wonderful story is about an innocent man running from the law who is forced to take along a spoiled rich girl, only to discover that she is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. We hope you’ll enjoy it.

Pearl is part of Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award winner Ruth Langan’s new THE JEWELS OF TEXAS series featuring four sisters, brought together by the death of their father. It’s the story of an Eastern-bred schoolteacher and the rough-and-tumble ranch foreman who wants her sent back home where she belongs. Don’t miss any of this terrific series.

Badlands Bride, by Cheryl St.John, is about a newspaper reporter who goes west pretending to be a mail-order bride, only to find herself stranded in the Dakotas for a long cold winter. While Margaret Moore’s new Medieval novel, The Baron’s Quest, is the story of a rough-edged Saxon who falls in love with the refined gentlewoman whom he has inherited along with his new holdings.

We hope you’ll keep a lookout for all four titles wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Millie and the Fugitive

Liz Ireland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LIZ IRELAND

lives in her native state of Texas, a place she feels gives her a never-ending supply of colorful characters. Aside from writing romance novels and tending to two very demanding cats and a guard dachshund, she enjoys spending time reading history or cozying up with an old movie.

Chapter One

Texas, 1880

“It’ll be slow going to Huntsville, boys, with me trussed up like last year’s Christmas goose,” Sam Houston Winter said, lifting his shackled wrists as evidence of his hindered movement.

Toby Jenkins and Ed Herman, the two deputies riding to his left and to his right respectively, exchanged quick glances and chuckles. The two had loosened their demeanor since they’d left Chariton and their boss, Sheriff Tom McMillan, behind a mile ago. Now Sam had to see whether he could convince the pair to loosen him.

“You sure take it on the chin, Sam,” Toby said, shaking his head. “Two years in the state prison ahead of you, and you still got a sense of humor.”

Ed laughed his wheezy laugh again in agreement with Toby. “Can’t say I’d be the same, if’n I was in your boots.”

“No, sir,” Toby said. “Though I think I would have done the same as you, Sam, if my brother was about to be hanged as a murderer.”

“You don’t have a brother, Toby,” Ed argued. He had to lean forward a little to see his sparring partner across Sam’s chest.

“No, but if’n I did, and if they was gonna hang him, then I’d do just what Sam did, and try to hide him.”

“Sure you would. I would, too,” Ed said. “But what I was just sayin’ was that I wouldn’t be laughin’ when the judge threw me in the clink for aidin’ a criminal.”

“I know that, Ed,” Toby said with irritation. “Wasn’t you listening? I was only sayin’ I’d do the same thing. Except for the sense-of-humor part,” he clarified. “Like you, I wouldn’t have no sense of humor about it, neither, like Sam here has.”

“No?” Ed asked, a wry smile on his tobacco stained lips. “Maybe that’s ’cause you never had one to begin with!”

The two threw back their heads in riotous, whooping laughter.

It was going to be an even longer ride than he’d imagined, Sam thought dismally. Yet the annoying duo steeled his determination to make a break for it.

“Anyway, it’s a shame we have to poke along like turtles on account of me,” Sam said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug after the two had tamped down their guffaws.

Ed’s face was sober for a blessed moment. “Sorry it has to be this way, Sam.”

“Me, too,” Toby said.

“Stupid rules. Me and Toby both know you wouldn’t swat a fly. You only did what you did — which wasn’t much, really—’cause Jesse was your brother.”

“Same as we would have done.”

Sam held his breath, dreading a repeat of their prior interchange, but the two seemed lost in thought. Serious thought, if the way Ed’s yellowed teeth sawed on his lower lip was any indication.

“You know, Toby,” Ed asked after a moment, “how is it that Sam’s all trussed up like so? It’s not like he was a murderer.”

“But he’s a prisoner, just the same.”

Ed nodded, as if he had forgotten this minor point. “That’s right, Sam. You are a prisoner. Much as I hate to say it.”

“Me, too,” Toby agreed.

“You sure play a hell of a game of poker, though,” Ed added as an afterthought.

Toby shook his head wistfully. During Sam’s weeks in Chariton’s tiny jail, the three of them had whiled away many a tedious hour over a worn deck.

Sometimes they’d even convinced Jesse to join in on a hand, but he’d never taken any pleasure in the game. Jesse was in mourning for Salina, his wife, the woman he’d been convicted of killing. For weeks, nothing had been able to keep him from brooding over his loss, not even his flight from the law, or his capture at Sam’s farm, or the hurried, hopeless trial that followed.

Sheriff McMillan, fueled by resentment toward Jesse after he’d testified against the sheriff’s son in a trial a year earlier, had seized on just enough evidence to convict Jesse. And he hadn’t been interested in any information that might contradict his desire to get his revenge, either. As for the rest of the town, most folks considered the crime so heinous, so shocking, they were eager for especially swift justice.

Sam frowned. Now Jesse was all alone in that cell, with no one to even attempt to take his mind off his troubles. He was sure Jesse didn’t even care that he faced the gallows in two weeks’ time. Jesse didn’t think he had much to live for, now that Salina was gone. But Sam wasn’t giving up so easily. In his pocket he had possible evidence of another man’s guilt—scant evidence that Tom McMillan, who only wanted a man to hang, wasn’t interested in pursuing.

Meanwhile, he waited patiently for Ed and Toby’s reasoning to progress to the next step.

“‘Course, it’s not like Sam’s a violent criminal, Ed,” Toby said. “Hidin’ somebody isn’t the same as killin’ somebody.”

Ed shook his head. “Nope. Fact, it’s practically the exact opposite.”

“Practically,” Toby agreed. “Sam here ain’t never even said a word against anybody. Not that I’ve heard.”

“Me neither.”

“He just done what anybody would have done.”

On this much, at least, the two seemed clear. Sam decided to give them a little mental shove. God knew, they needed it.

“Well, I suppose that’s just the way with the law,” he said nonchalantly. “If you start making exceptions...”

“Where would it end?” Toby finished for him.

“Why, sure.” Sam was silent a moment, then mused absently, “I wonder whether counterfeiters have to wear handcuffs”

Toby and Ed suddenly looked at each other, their eyes wide and almost alarmed, as if the unexpected question had mentally flummoxed them.

“I don’t know,” Toby said, his voice filled with wonder. “Do you know, Ed?”

“No, I sure don’t.”

“Counterfeiter. I ain’t never run across one of those.” Toby bit his lip and squinted in thought as he stared across the horizon. It was morning still, and the sun was just now beginning to beat down upon them. “I bet they do.”

“Bet so.” Ed frowned. “But then again, maybe they don’t.”

“Funny thing is,” Toby said, “Sam here is even less dangerous than a counterfeiter, when you think about it.”

“He’s not even a thief or anything like that.”

“Hell no. He’s just a brother-hider.”

“I mean, who’s he hurt?”

“Nobody I know of.”

The two looked at each other again, communicating silently over Sam’s shoulders.

“And if somebody like a counterfeiter doesn’t have to be tied up, then why should Sam?”

“You got me stumped,” Ed declared.

“Whoa there, boys,” Sam said graciously, hoping the triumphant surge he felt didn’t show in his face. They weren’t even three miles out of town yet. This was too easy. “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss man.”

“With Sheriff Tom?” Ed asked incredulously.

“Why, Tom trusts us!” Toby protested, as if the idea itself were plumb crazy.

“Would he have let us take you all the way to Huntsville by our lonesome if he didn’t trust us to use our, you know...”

“Discretion?” Sam prompted.

“Sure, that’s it,” Toby said. “We’d just be using our discretion. It’s not like you would try to escape.”

“You certain of that?” Sam asked, darting his eyebrows up.

“Ha! That’s a laugh!” Ed said with another wheezing chuckle. “Hold up there, Toby, let’s let old poker face here out of these iron traps. He’s right, it’ll make for faster travelin’.”

Easy, it was too easy, Sam thought, proffering his wrists with an admirable show of reluctance.

Toby tossed a large ring of keys over Sam’s horse to Ed. “Here, take care of it, will you? I’ve got to water a bush.”

“Already? Hell, it’s gonna be slow goin’ anyway, even without Sam cuffed.” Ed laughed heartily as Toby disappeared to the other side of a scrubby little elm.

After only minimal fumbling, the bonds fell away in a noisy clatter to Sam’s saddle. Far too easy. Providence couldn’t have sent him two more gullible jailers.

“Now we just have to wait for old leaky-drawers,” Ed mused, shifting in his saddle and looking off in the direction where Toby had disappeared. “I swear, the man’s as bad as—”

The sound of the cuffs hitting the back of Ed’s head made a dull clump sound, and then the deputy slumped over and listed to the side, falling from his horse. Sam jumped down and eased the man’s way to the ground. He wasn’t a violent man, normally; ordinarily he would have felt a sting of guilt for taking advantage of the two men’s kindness this way. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances he was in. He grabbed the rifle off Ed’s saddle and held it up toward the tree Toby just then appeared from behind.

“Hey! What’s goin’ on here?” Toby demanded.

“Ed had a fainting spell,” Sam said, keeping his voice raw and cool, his muscles tense. The time for friendly patter had passed. “Drop your gun, Toby.”

“Sure thing, Sam,” the second deputy said, scooting forward obligingly with one hand stiffly in the air while the other pulled a derringer from its holster and lowered the gun to the earth. “Heck, you know I don’t blame you none. I’d do the same if’n I was you.”

“Maybe so,” Sam said, picking up Toby’s derringer and tucking it into his belt. “I don’t have time for making excuses. Now get over here and drag Ed back to that tree.”

“Whatever you say, Sam,” Toby said, grabbing Ed by the armpits and dragging him backward. His frightened eyes never left the barrel of Sam’s rifle. Sam grabbed a coil of rope from Ed’s saddle and joined Toby by the tree. “I hate to do this to you, friend....”

“You ain’t gonna—?” Toby winced and fell to his knees in supplication. “Please, Sam—I’ve got a widowed mother.”

“You’ll see your mother again,” Sam assured the man, moments before his rifle butt came down on his head. Soon Mama Jenkins would be treating her boy for a nasty bump on the head.

Quickly Sam cuffed the two men together, then propped them up against the tree and bound them tightly to its trunk. He had enough rope for the job and then a good length left over—yet another sign that the Fates were with him this day.

Feeling magnanimous, he trotted back to the horses and retrieved a canteen of water from one of the saddles. He returned to the two men and propped the water between them.

He didn’t want them to die — he just didn’t want them to be found for at least a day or two. After a final whack on the head for each of them, he turned and drove two of the horses away, saving the gamest one for his own flight.

The black would have to ride hard in the days ahead. It was nearly four days to the south and west to Little Bend, the town where he had business. Dead-serious business. And Jesse’s date with the hangman in two weeks left him precious little time.

He mounted the black and kicked him into an easy lope, due west. In spite of the tension that ate at his insides, a wide smile broke out across his lips. At least he was off to a good start. Yes, sir. Things couldn’t have gone much better if he’d planned it step by step.

Then he heard a noise. A horse’s whinny, high and shrill.

He sawed the reins of the black and brought him to a stop, turning in his saddle. The other two horses had galloped off in the opposite direction from where the sound had come from. Tense, alert, he surveyed the landscape around him. There wasn’t much to it. Just a sloping, grass-covered hill, dotted with elms and other unremarkable trees. Except one...

His eyes caught sight of what he’d been looking for. On the other side of the tree stood a horse, a pretty little dappled gray mare. Raising his rifle with one arm, he rode slowly toward the tree where the horse was tethered. A pear tree. Its branches sagged with fruit.

Sam stopped. He didn’t like this at all. A riderless horse practically within spitting distance of where he’d clunked two deputies over the head... Maybe his luck wasn’t so good today after all.

“Who’s there?” he asked, his finger tense on the trigger. Having come this far, he was ready to shoot his way out of trouble if he had to.

But as his eyes scanned the area once again, he noted something interesting. The mare was outfitted with a sidesaddle, polished to a high gloss. Sam had seen few of those ridiculous-looking things in his twenty-eight years. Yet the sight of it made him relax a little. It was only a woman.

He hoped she was alone.

Where the hell could she be?

Just then, his gaze alit on precisely what he’d been looking for—a dainty tan boot peeking out from beneath a limb of the pear tree. The woman was treed...but she’d also been in a perfect position to witness him clobbering two deputies.

“All right, lady. Come on out.”

A branch rustled nervously, sending a brown pear dropping to the hard ground below. But fruit was all that appeared.

“I know you heard me,” he said, riding forward a few more steps. He doubted the person who belonged to those kid-leather boots rode armed.

The closer he came, the more that tree shook, until, as Sam sat directly beneath a bright yellow dress covering a host of frilly starched white petticoats and a tantalizing peek of shapely, pantalet-clad legs, every branch on the tree was quivering. Looking up, he discovered a pair of the darkest, most frightened eyes he’d ever seen staring down at him. She’d heard him, all right. She just wished she hadn’t.

“All, right, little lady,” he said in the same gruff voice, “come on down now.”

In a split second, even though her gaze never left his face, the young woman’s entire demeanor changed. A bright, fetching smile broke out across her rosy-red lips, even if the fear remained in her eyes as she hugged even more tightly to the tree trunk.

“Well, my goodness!” she cried, in an overly friendly tone that was betrayed only by a slight anxious crack in her voice. “I thought I heard someone!”

“Right,” Sam said, lacking the leisure to be amused by her little show of innocence. “You might also have thought you saw a man tying two deputies to a tree.”

“Deputies?” she asked. “What deputies?”

“Come on, lady,” he said, raising the rifle another notch.

Her expression turned deadly earnest, and she shook her head fervently. “Oh, no, I swear. I didn’t see a thing. My—my lips are forever sealed.”

“If you didn’t see anything, what are they sealed against?”

“That’s just it,” she insisted. “They won’t be able to get a single solitary word out of me, Mr. — I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Not a chance,” he told her.

Desperation crossed her face. “You’ve got to believe me,” she pleaded. “I wouldn’t tell a soul I saw anything, even if I did. Which I didn’t. Ask anyone. I’m honest to a fault. I never break my word. Never, never, never, never—Ooooh!”

He grabbed her booted foot and tugged. “Are you coming down, or am I going to have to drag you?”

“No!” It took her a moment to regain her composure, not to mention her equilibrium, as her right foot struggled for balance on a narrow limb. “I mean, of course I’ll come down,” she said, trying the pleasant tactic again. “I’m most eager to make your acquaintance.”

“I’ll bet.”

He leaned against the saddle horn for a moment as the young woman fussed and fidgeted, alternately shooting nervous glances at him and studying with some confusion her position in the tree. “My goodness...” she mumbled absently. “I got up here so fast, I never considered how to get down....”

Sam sighed. He didn’t have time for this. “Do you want some help?”

“No, no—Oooh!”

Before she could waste any more precious moments, Sam reached up with both hands, grabbed her about the knees and pulled firmly. It didn’t take much effort. In a cascade of starched cotton and pears, the young woman landed across the saddle in front of him, her keen dark eyes rounded in shock. Both Sam and the girl sucked in surprised gulps of air in reaction to his bold maneuver.

She had to be the lightest woman he’d ever held in his arms—not that he made a habit of lifting females. As he looked into her pretty face close up for the first time, he felt a stab of disappointment. This was hardly time for a leisurely getting-acquainted chat with an attractive girl. Seeing the momentary curiosity in the young woman’s expression return quickly to fear as she stared back at him reminded him of his purpose.

“Sorry, miss, I’m in a hurry,” Sam drawled.

His words, even spoken as casually as they were, sent the young lady over the edge. Tears spilled down her pale cheeks, and she recoiled from him, grabbing behind her at the black mane of his horse. “Please don’t kill me,” she pleaded frantically as she attempted to squirm away.

“I won’t,” Sam said.

“Please! I won’t say a word—on my honor!”

“I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to kill you.”

She ran a hand through her tangled black hair, her gaze darting frantically across the horizon all the while, no doubt hoping for rescue. “My daddy will pay you any amount of money for me, if you’ll only let me live.”

“Lady, haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?” Sam asked. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“What?” She stared at him dubiously.

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Yes, you are!” she cried vehemently. “I saw—”

“You saw what?”

Her voice was suddenly meek. “Nothing.” But she didn’t have to say a word for him to imagine exactly what she’d seen, or what she thought she’d seen.

Sam couldn’t help it. He laughed bitterly. Had he really thought the Fates were with him? No such luck! He had a witness who had been close enough to watch him tie up two deputies and club them on the head, but too far away to notice that he hadn’t killed them. Now he had to figure out what to do with her.

“Daddy can walk into the bank and take out thousands of dollars for you, just as soon as I’m returned. Believe me, I won’t fail to mention how you rescued me from that tree.”

“Money’s not what I’m after,” Sam replied.

“Then how about dry goods?” she asked hopefully. “My father owns a store. There’s all sorts of things there you might want. Fabric, food, guns... Well, he naturally might not want to give you guns—”

“Quiet!” He couldn’t think, with her frantic babbling in his ear.

What could he do with her? Hitting two men on the head was one thing, but a woman... He had never hit a woman before. Besides, a woman was more delicate. He couldn’t risk causing her serious harm, or, worse, accidentally killing her. That would make him a murderer. He looked down at the rope in his hands. Same if he tied her up. He didn’t know when someone would find the two deputies. Could be today, could be a few days.

This woman was just a skinny little thing. Wiry. Despite her dark hair and eyes, she had pale skin that looked soft and pampered. He doubted she’d last two hours out here if he gagged her and tied her up.

What in the Sam Hill was he going to do?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she blurted out fearfully. “If you don’t believe me about my father, just ask anyone. My name’s Millie—”

“I don’t want to know your name.”

“But if you’d just listen—”

“Shut up!”

Tension caused beads of sweat to gather at the back of his neck, and as he reached back to wipe them off, the girl named Millie drew back anxiously. He had her good and scared, all right.

Maybe that fear could work to his advantage. If he could just get her far enough away, where nobody had ever heard of Jesse Winter, maybe find a safe place to dump her... He needed to get moving.

He glanced at the gray mare. She looked like a game little horse, but he wasn’t so certain about the silly gear she was decked out in. “Can you ride that thing?” he asked, nodding toward the side saddle.

“Mrs. Darwimple!” she cried indignantly.

In his panic, Sam heard a woman’s name and feared the young woman had a companion. He pivoted anxiously in the saddle. “Who?”

Millie recoiled from the barrel of his gun as it swung around her way. “Mrs. Darwimple is my horse,” she clarified, boldly shooing the barrel away from her person. “I don’t like you calling her a ‘thing.’”

“Oh.” The tension gushed out of him in one breath as he looked again at the little mare. Mrs. Darwimple? What kind of nut named a horse something like that? He glanced back at the black-haired young lady. She was staring back, a slightly indignant, prissy purse to her rosy lips. For a crazy moment, he wondered what would happen if he kissed the pout right off of those lips of hers.

Maybe taking her wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe...

He shook his head. He just didn’t have time for maybes. “I don’t care what her name is. Can you ride her?”

“Can I!” Millie bridled proudly in front of him. “Daddy says riding is the one thing I do exceptionally well,” she boasted. Just as quickly, an idea apparently struck her. “If you want, I could ride into town for you and get whatever you need for—”

“Forget it,” Sam said, cutting her off. “I hope you’re telling the truth, because—”

“I told you, I’m very honest,” Millie said, annoyed.

“Fine. Then get up on that horse.” He grabbed her by the arm, eased her down, and followed right after her.

“I can mount by myself.”

“Good for you,” Sam said, watching as she swung up to her preposterous perch. As soon as she’d crooked her leg into position, he took the leftover rope and reached beneath her knee.

“What are you doing?” she cried in shocked outrage.

“Tying you to the saddle and the saddle to me,” he answered, looping the rope around her knee and pulling it into a snug knot.

“But that’s dangerous!” She shot him an angry glare. “If my daddy hears about this—”

His eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Listen, Princess. Two minutes ago you were telling me ‘daddy’ was going to shower me in riches.”

The reminder failed to calm her. “My daddy will see to it that you’re strung up from the highest gallows, you filthy murderer! And don’t think he won’t. My daddy has influence!”

With a heavy sigh, Sam mounted his horse again, feeling less optimistic now that he was saddled with a mouthy woman. He would have to figure out a way to get rid of her, fast. There was so little time. Two weeks.

“Kick that horse into a gallop and keep your lip buttoned,” he instructed her.

In answer, she jutted out her chin belligerently.

Fine. Sam spurred his own horse and watched in solemn amusement as the little princess was yanked into movement. Her starchy white ruffled pinafore and yellow skirt flipped into her face momentarily, until she sputtered and waved them away, tucking both underneath her firmly. She threw him a last angry glance before setting her jaw and concentrating finally on the landscape ahead of them.

Sam was at least grateful to note that she hadn’t been lying about her riding skill. Which meant that if he couldn’t travel light, he could at least travel fleetly. But then, he had to.

His brother’s life depended on it.

“When my father hears about this, you’ll be done for.”

And her father would hear about it, once someone found the bonnet Millie had dropped as she and the desperado galloped away. Naturally, the man hadn’t noticed it was missing—probably hadn’t even noticed its dangling chin ties looped around her saddle to begin with. It was her very best bonnet, too, festooned with grape clusters and even a little redbird. But men of this man’s ilk probably didn’t pay any attention to hats unless they were the type measured by how much fluid could fit inside them.

Once her jaunty bonnet was found so near the deputies, Sheriff Tom McMillan was bound to put two and two together. If her bonnet was found. She had to keep up hope. “You’ll never get away with this,” she said menacingly.

The desperado rolled his eyes toward the star-drenched heavens. “Shut up and eat.”

Shut up? Never in her life had anyone ordered Millicent Lively around so brutishly! Just why did he feel it necessary to be so rude, anyway? She was apparently going to spend her night tied to a tree. Wasn’t that punishment enough?

This had to be the worst day of her whole entire life, Millie thought, giving in to her sulky mood. First she had had a dreadful argument with her father, who had forbidden her to break off her engagement. He thought she was getting a reputation for being fickle, and needed to settle down. Millie would admit, eleven fiancés was quite a number to have gone through—but that didn’t mean she was wrong to not want to marry Lloyd Boyd, one of the clerks at her father’s bank. And not even a very good bank clerk, as she’d reminded her father. Lloyd, daydreaming about more romantic jobs, was forever counting out the wrong change.

But he was also one of her oldest friends. The only reason she’d agreed to be engaged to him was simply that the supply of men to affiance herself to was running very low. And it was terrible not to have a fiancé at this time of year, with Christmas coming. And her birthday was in December, too. But a girl just didn’t marry a friend. That would be too boring! For a husband, a girl wanted someone different, mysterious....

She looked over at that outlaw and shivered. Maybe not too mysterious!

But at any rate, she certainly wouldn’t marry anyone against her will. So she’d decided to run away. Well, naturally, she wasn’t really going to run away. She’d simply intended to stay out long enough for her father to begin to worry, then to repent his outrageous ultimatum, and then to feel so terribly guilty that he would never cross her wishes again. Three hours would have done it. He knew she never missed the noon meal.

And she was certain this would have all worked according to plan—except that some ruffian would have to come along and kidnap her!

She couldn’t be certain, but she was afraid this man was that wife-murderer who’d just been sentenced to hang. There weren’t too many murderers in Chariton, after all. Just her luck that she would be out when one of the few managed to escape!

Despair threatened to overwhelm her, but she held her head high. She couldn’t give in. Couldn’t let this barbarian see her fear. She looked upon him imperiously, turning up her nose at the cold biscuit that he held. “Eat? I’d rather die!” she said, never taking her eyes off him.

Not that she could forget what he looked like. Ever. His deeply tanned skin, dusty brown hair and gray eyes would haunt her forever now. As would the shock of landing in the desperado’s fearfully powerful embrace when she tumbled out of that pear tree. The odd thing was, she would have found the man handsome, if it weren’t for the fact that he was a murderer and a kidnapper and God only knew what else. He also had strong hands and an impressive build—the better to maim and abduct with, she supposed.

“It seems to me that after going to all the trouble of taking a hostage,” she lectured primly, “you could at least provide me with a hot meal.”

“Sure,” the man drawled. “I guess I should build up a big snuggly fire to warm your dainty feet by, too.”

She tossed the black hair that she had braided after her captor finally stopped for the night. For a few hours’ rest, he said. As if she could get any rest roped to a tree trunk, out in the chilly night air! “As a matter of fact, I would appreciate a fire very much. And if my daddy ever learned that you had extended that kindness, I am certain he would ask the authorities to be lenient.”

“I’ll bet,” he said flatly. “The last thing I need is you sending smoke signals to daddy.”

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about that,” she assured him, in a voice that let him know precisely how preposterous that idea was. “The only Indian blood in my family is a distant cousin on my great-great-grand-mother’s —”

“Forget it,” he snapped, apparently not interested in her family’s fascinating history. “Fires attract attention.”

She folded her arms crossly. “You should have at least let me bring along some of the pears I had collected.”

She thought she detected a hint of regret in those gray eyes of his over the crunchy pears they’d left behind. Maybe she was just imagining it. “Stop thinking about the hunger, and it won’t bother you so much,” he said.

“Well I’ve got to eat something!” she cried.

He laughed gently, his eyes glinting at her with wicked humor. As though he enjoyed her discomfort! But then, why wouldn’t he? He was a vicious criminal.

“I thought you’d rather die than eat,” he said.

“Oh, give me a piece of that horrible stuff,” she snapped, swiping a hunk from his hand. She took a bite of the dry, tasteless biscuit and winced as she chewed. And chewed. Finally, she gathered up the necessary resources to swallow. “How terrible! Daddy probably ate better during the war!”

“Don’t blame me, Princess. I got it off my law friends.”

“The men you killed, you mean.”

“Once and for all, I did not kill anybody.”

“Ha! I witnessed the crime with my own eyes,” she said, not bothering to lie. “I saw that man begging for his life before you pummeled him.”

“You saw wrong,” he said. “I didn’t kill anybody. Think about it. If I were a murderer, why would I be wasting my time hauling you around?”

For a moment, Millie was stumped. But a common criminal couldn’t fool a mind like hers for long. “That’s simple,” she said proudly. “You obviously know how valuable I am.”

His mouth fell open. “Valuable!”

“Of course. I told you right away that my daddy would pay a high price for my return.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that fairy story?”

“It’s the truth!” she yelped in frustration.

“Well, I don’t believe it, any more than you believe I’m not a murderer.”

Millie frowned. “But I can prove Daddy’s an important person.”

The gray eyes glinted in challenge. “How?”

It was so obvious! “Take me back to Chariton. If you ask anyone there, they’ll tell you.”

This suggestion was greeted with a full-throated cackle. “Princess, you’ve got to think of something better than that.”

“Or any town in these parts. My daddy’s well-known. Haven’t you ever heard of Sam Houston?”

That name finally got his attention. The man sat up a little straighter. “Heard of him? I’m named after him!” He frowned. “But he’s dead. You can’t be...”

Her lips lifted in a smug smile. She couldn’t help it. It was about time the man started taking her seriously. “No, I’m not. But my daddy used to work for Mr. Houston, before the war.”

He tilted his head skeptically. “I thought you said your father was a storekeeper.”

“He is. He owns a store, and a bank.”

The man frowned thoughtfully. “So...that’s how he can get his hands on all those armloads of dollars you keep promising me.”

“That’s right. Daddy is quite wealthy.” She smiled in relief. Now that the man knew she was rich, her situation would surely improve. “So now that you believe me, won’t you let me go? It would be better for you in the end. After all, they’re bound to catch up with you.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said. She couldn’t see his face too well in the darkness. Just enough to take note of the hard cast to his expression. Its intensity made her shiver. “Don’t think I’m swallowing every word you feed me, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you’d say anything to free yourself.”

“You’re a fine one to call me a liar, you —” All at once, something about what he’d said seemed odd to her. He’d said he was named after Sam Houston. But the man who’d murdered his wife had been named Winter. Jesse Winter.

“You’re not him,” she said.

He looked up from the ground. “Who?”

“The murderer,” she said, adding quickly. “At least, you’re not the one I thought you were. His name was Jesse Winter.”

“That’s my brother. I’m Sam Winter.”

The knowledge didn’t comfort her. There was obviously a strain of exceptionally bad blood running in the Winter family, if they could create two such vicious characters in one generation. Her father hadn’t allowed her anywhere near the courtroom during the Winter trial, but she suddenly remembered. “You hid your brother, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“They were sending you to jail for that?” she asked.

He nodded curtly. “For two years.”

That seemed a bit severe to Millie, but the law was the law. “If everyone aided criminals,” she said, “we’d never be able to catch them.”

“What if some of these so-called criminals are actually innocent?” he asked challengingly.

“But your brother was guilty. A jury convicted him.”

“You think juries are always right, Miss...what did you say your name was?”

“Lively,” she told him. “Millicent Lively.”

“Don’t you think people are capable of making mistakes, Miss Lively? After all —” His words were cut off, and for a moment, Millie wondered if perhaps he wasn’t choking. He sat with his mouth open, the strangest expression on his face. “Your name is Lively?”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Your father...” Sam swallowed. “He’s not Horace Lively, by any chance, is he? Colonel Horace P. Lively?”

Her face lit up. “That’s Daddy!”

“Oh, God.” The man swallowed slowly. “This is fine. Just fine!” he said, his voice rising petulantly.

“I told you all along he was important.”

The man’s searing gray eyes glistened in the darkness, fastening on her with growing anger. “Why didn’t you just say it flat out? ‘My father is Colonel Horace P. Lively.’ I thought maybe he just owned a big store. You didn’t tell me he was a man with a statewide reputation. A war hero!”

She smirked in satisfaction. “Well, now you know.”

He picked up a rock and tossed it into the darkness. The sound of it hitting a tree echoed back to them. “Now is too late,” Sam said. “If I’d known, I could have left you there. Even if you had a big mouth and would have blabbered lies all over the place and told the authorities where I’d ridden off. At least I wouldn’t be charged with kidnapping Old Lightfooted Lively’s daughter!”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s just what I’ve been telling you all along,” she insisted. “If you only would have listened!”

He sighed in despair. Good, Millie thought. Let him worry for a while! “This is a helluva fix I’m in,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you let me go now?” she suggested. “You’ve seen me ride. You know I can get back to Chariton all right. And I’ll tell Daddy that you were a perfect gentleman and released me as soon as you knew who I was.”

“I’m in too deep now,” he said. “I’ve got to think of a way to get rid of you.”

“You mean —” Instinctively, she touched her neck, as if the ominous words had choked the breath out of her.

“Don’t worry,” he snapped. “Believe it or not, I’m more concerned about someone else’s liberty than yours.”

“A murderer’s, you mean.”

“My brother is innocent,” Sam said, his voice suddenly more menacing than she’d ever heard it. “I won’t have you talk against him.”

She was silent for a moment, watching him. She could just make out his intent expression in the darkness. Finally, she gathered the courage to ask, “What are you going to do with me? Leave me here, tied up?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Sam said. “I’ll have to decide in the morning.”

Millie frowned. Morning. She couldn’t believe it would ever come. It seemed a lifetime of darkness away.

“Get some shut-eye,” Sam instructed her. He sat back down where he’d been, then stretched himself out to his full length across the ground. “More than likely, tomorrow will be harder than today.”

Harder? After a day with no food or rest? Millie had no idea how she was supposed to sleep propped up and bound to an oak tree, but that didn’t appear to concern Mr. Sam Winter. “This is no bed of roses, you know,” she said tightly.

He looked over at her, frowning. He then stood, picked up one of the horse blankets and spread it across her feet and outstretched legs. “That’ll have to do, Princess. Sorry I couldn’t provide better accommodations.”

Her lips turned down, and she watched with envy as he stretched out across the grass again. Oh, well. At least she was alive. For someone taken hostage by a cold-blooded killer, a man who’d murdered two lawmen, that was quite a bit to be thankful for. But what would morning bring?

She sank against the rough bark and closed her eyes. She was tired. And sore! Good rider though she was, she’d never ridden so vigorously for so long before. She’d never needed to — until Sam Winter pointed a gun at her.

Odd, she thought, yawning sleepily. He must be an awfully insightful criminal. “Sam?”

There was a short pause before he answered her. “Yeah?”

It was a deep voice. Soft, husky. Again, she would have liked it, had it belonged to another man. A nice man. “How did you know my nickname?”

“Huh?”

“The one my daddy calls me by,” she clarified, her voice tired and heavy.

“What’s that?”

“Princess.”

His deep-throated chuckle was the only reply Millie received before she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Two

Even before he opened his eyes, Sam could feel something beating down on him. Not the sun; he could tell by the cool, damp air against his skin that it wasn’t yet light. But something equal to the sun’s intensity. He allowed himself to take a tentative peek — and was immediately confronted by a pair of angry brown eyes peering at him through the waning darkness.

His hostage’s arms were crossed over her chest. “I smell like a horse!” she snapped in an imperious tone Sam wasn’t as yet prepared to contend with. Not at this hour, at least.

He closed his eyes again. In his dreams, Salina’s murder had never happened. He’d been back at his farm, confronting nothing more than another early fall day of harvesting the fruits of his labors. Honest work. Work that made a man feel satisfied with himself at the end of the day. Unlike kidnapping.

He forced himself to sit upright and face the day ahead of him. At least it was still well before dawn. They could cover a lot of miles today, which they needed to do now that he had decided where to deposit Miss Lively. Well after she dozed off, Sam had lain awake, considering his options. One thing he definitely didn’t have time for was keeping a girl with dancing dark eyes and enticing lips with him. He’d spent too much time already remembering how slender her waist was, how delicate she felt on his lap. How pretty she was...

And what a rich, powerful daddy she had. An angry daddy, too, once he discovered what had happened to his little princess.

Finally, he’d concluded that the best place for Millie would be with one of his father’s old friends, Gus Beaver. Gus and his wife, Louise, lived on a remote farm and would make certain Miss Lively stayed put, with her mouth shut, until Sam was able to free Jesse. Going to Gus’s wouldn’t take him too much out of his way, but he had no time to waste.

Sam stood up, dusted himself off and prepared to untie Millie, who hadn’t stopped glaring at him.

“I’m not budging an inch until I’ve had a bath,” she said to him before he could take so much as a step forward.

“A bath!” Sam exclaimed. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? There’s a stream not far from here, you said yesterday. You can’t possibly expect me to ride around the country dirty and smelling bad, can you?”

“Welcome to the unwashed masses, Miss Lively.”

Her chin jutted out defiantly, in a manner he was beginning to know and dread. “I am not the masses. Every day since I can remember, my maid, Alberta, has drawn me a warm bath. It’s not as if I’m asking for the moon. Just to wade in a cold stream. I wouldn’t think that too much to ask.”

“Well, it is,” he retorted.

“Hmm.” She tossed her mussed head of black hair behmd her to indicate her utter disdain. “My daddy always says cleanliness is next to godliness. I suppose that just shows what class of person you are!”

“Sorry, Princess, I don’t have time to be godly right at this moment.”

“Then you might as well shoot me now,” she argued petulantly, kicking off the striped wool saddle blanket. “I’d rather be dead than so dirty I’m attracting bugs!”

Sam could deal with bugs. An uppity rich girl with a powerful daddy bothered him a whole lot more. Yesterday he’d never have dreamed that taking the woman would make him feel as if he were traveling across Texas with a lit stick of dynamite, but that’s how it seemed now.

Why hadn’t he seen the signs? Her soft tan boots that looked like they’d barely ever touched dirt, her prissy sidesaddle, the fine yellow dress that even in its simplicity was better than any of the dresses the womenfolk of his acquaintance had ever worn — those things all shouted mockingly at him now. Even in the darkness he could make out that damn yellow dress.

So, probably, could any person who saw them, even from a half mile away. Damn!

Sam bit back a ragged sigh. No use worrying about things he couldn’t do anything about. Unless...

An idea occurred to him. A wicked idea, tailor-made to give the haughty little princess a cold douse of reality. Maybe next time she would think twice before she started making demands.

“All right,” he said, with a reluctance he now didn’t feel, “I suppose we could stop long enough for you to take a quick dip.” He leaned down and untied her bonds, then reached quickly for his rifle, in case she had any sneaky ideas.

Apparently she didn’t. Her smile of satisfaction showed through the darkness as she stood up and dusted herself off. “Now that’s more like it!” she said, her voice a pleased chirp. “I won’t be but a minute.”

“I’ll see to that. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Her eyes became round and alert. “What? Surely you don’t think...”

“Surely you don’t think I’m going to let you swim away from me,” he told her. “You just start walking to the creek.”

She took one look at the barrel of his gun, turned, and began marching stiffly ahead of him. Funny, now that she knew she was going to have a witness to her morning bath—someone besides her maid Alberta—the woman seemed in less of a hurry to spiff herself up.

As the soft bubbling of the creek came into earshot, Millie’s steps slowed to a crawl. Finally she stopped, and turned, a genial smile on her face. “Sam...” Her voice was far too pleasant to be trustworthy, and her manner was all flounce and flutter, now that she knew he had her over a barrel. “That’s such a nice name.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded obligingly. “Sam, now that I’ve had time to give the matter further thought, I do believe I could wait another day, or perhaps even a week or so, before I take a bath.”

He smiled back. “I’ve given it some thought, too,” he told her. “And I’ve decided I wouldn’t want to be responsible for depriving you of your daily dose of godliness.”

“Oh, but I don’t mind, honestly.”

He shot his eyebrows upward, feigning shock. “What would your daddy say if he found out?”

Her black eyes grew fiery as all pretense of friendliness was dropped. “He’d rather that than that I stripped down in front of a criminal!”

“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling broadly. “I won’t look.”

She clucked skeptically. “As if I would trust your word—the word of a murderer!”

The tag stung. Would he ever be able to prove to the world that he and his brother weren’t criminals? Obviously not, if Miss Millicent Lively had her way. “Just remember, Princess. This murderer will be nearby in case you decide to swim away. Now walk.”

She tossed him a glare and marched forward again until they reached the edge of a stream. It wasn’t very wide, but there was a spot where it formed a very small pond—big enough for Millie to splash around in. Sam nudged her toward it, then nodded.

“Take off your dress and hop in,” he instructed.

After sending him an annoyed glance, she squinted down at the water at her feet. “This water is brown,” she declared distastefully. “And there are probably snakes in there!”

“Just jump in. Most likely, you’ll scare them all away,” Sam said, growing impatient. “Now take off that dress and get in.”

Knowing she had no choice—not with a gun pointed at her—she untied and slipped off her pinafore, then began to hurriedly undo the multitude of tiny pearl buttons down her front. There were enough of those to make Sam worry that Ed and Toby would catch up with them before they could all be unbuttoned. Finally, however, Millie was able to step out of the yellow frock, and Sam prepared to turn away.

Only, to his surprise, he discovered there was no need. Stripped down to her underwear, Millie had on more clothes than most women wore to church.

Her face flushed under his prolonged stare. “You said you wouldn’t look!”

Sam was still in shock. “You put on all that gear just to pick a few pears?”

Her jaw dropped in astonishment. “Of course!” She looked down her front. Over a corset she wore a thin short-sleeved cotton camisole that gathered at her narrow waist, and under the corset there appeared to be a sleeveless shift. And that wasn’t even counting the petticoats, which had to number three, at least.

Sam’s expectations had by necessity been drawn from the women he’d seen undress in the past—but those women had been from a different class altogether from Millie Lively. He’d forgotten that the richer you were, the more uncomfortable you had a right to be.

“You’d better set aside one of those petticoats to dry yourself off with.”

She complied, grumbling all the while. “All right. But I’m not going to so much as wade in that filthy muck. You can’t make me.”

“I don’t care if you only wet your toes. You were the one who was all fired up to get clean.”

He wasn’t surprised to see that shedding a petticoat barely made a dent in her layers of skirts. He picked up her yellow dress and watched as she untied and stepped out of her boots, then reached out with one small, pale foot to test the water. It was still too dark for her to trust that there wasn’t a snake nearby, so she took a tentative step forward — and, with a loud splash, was suddenly swallowed up by the pond.

“Millie!” Sam hollered, running to the edge of the bank. With all those clothes on, the poor girl was apt to sink like a stone! He looked anxiously at the wildly rippling surface, preparing to strip down to his long underwear and rescue her.

But before he could so much as tug at a shirttail, Millie surfaced again, coughing and sputtering.

“Are you all right?” he asked, still ready to dive in and save her. “Can you swim?”

Her shoulders poked above the water, and through the darkness she sent him a withering look as she coughed up the last of the water she’d swallowed. “I don’t have to swim,” she said. “I can stand.”

“Thank heavens,” Sam said, relieved. Remembering the dress, and the work he had to do, he turned away.

“I’m so touched that you care,” Millie’s voice said bitingly. “And it’s such a relief that you didn’t have to go to the trouble of getting wet just to fish me out.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Sam agreed, smiling as he heard more splashing and sputtering behind him. He spread the yellow dress out across the bank and began to walk across it in a shambling shuffle.

The girl released a strangled cry. “What are you doing!”

“Mussing your dress. It’s too clean.”

“Too clean?” she exclaimed. “It’s never been so filthy!” He bent down and flipped the dress onto its other side, and Millie groaned in dismay as he repeated the process. “Until now...”

“This way we’ll be a better match,” Sam told her.

“Just what I’ve always dreamed of,” she said scathingly, “to look like I belong to the criminal class.”

Sam finished with a little jig before stepping off the dress. “There,” he said with satisfaction as he inspected the now dingier garment. “You won’t attract as much attention now. It’s hard to tell whether this is yellow or beige, I’ll wager.”

When his commentary was met with silence, Sam turned quickly. But Millie hadn’t disappeared—she was standing very still in the water, her expression pained. And angry. Very, very angry.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Her mouth clamped shut. Then she mumbled, “Nothing.”

“You can come out now,” he told her, holding out a hand. “Here, I’ll help you.”

“Don’t you dare touch me!” she cried ferociously. “You, you — dress-musser!”

Sam smiled. “You wound me.” Kneeling at the very edge of the bank, he grabbed her by the arms and lifted her bodily out of the water and onto dry land. Millie managed to get him at least half as wet as she was in the process.

He handed her the dress, which did nothing to soothe her. She looked at the garment in seething silence. “I loved this dress,” she said at last.

Sam shrugged. “It’s just clothing.”

“That’s all you know!” she retorted, her eyes flashing. “That dress was my very favorite. I sewed it myself — it took me months!”

Months? Sam wasn’t sure about these things, but he doubted it took most women months to finish a dress. Especially women like Millie Lively, who had all the leisure the world had to offer.

But maybe he just didn’t know what he was talking about. Needle and thread were tedious tools he’d always tried his damnedest to avoid using. “I suppose being called a dress-musser is better than being called a murderer.”

“You are a murderer,” she said, scrambling away from him up the bank as fast as she could. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten those two deputies!” She began drying herself with the petticoat she’d put aside. “I’ll bet hundreds of people are going to be combing the area for you today.”

“We’ll be ahead of them.”

“Not for long. Word of my disappearance will get out, and then you’ll be in big trouble.”

Sam found it difficult to concentrate on the prospect of being hunted at the moment. Instead, his eyes kept glancing in amazement at Millie, whose shape was silhouetted against the lightening sky. The girl might appear to be mere skin and bone while buried under her mounds of clothes, but when those same clothes were wet and clingy, the womanly curves they revealed were definitely...eye-catching.

He remembered, back at the pear tree, thinking the legs poking out from it were mighty appealing. But that had been before he was faced with the spoiled princess that went with them. Most of the time she seemed more girl than woman. It would be hard to think of her that way now....

He looked away, feeling his face redden. His throat was suddenly dry, and he cleared it uncomfortably.

“What’s the matter?” Millie asked. “Are you sick?”

Ironically, anger over her dress seemed to have knocked the bashfulness clear out of her head, so that she stomped around, heedless of his gaping, as she whacked her dress against the trunk of a tree, hoping to flog some of the dirt off. Sam wished she’d go ahead and put the damn thing back on, already.

“No, I’m not sick,” he answered, getting to his feet. “We just need to push on.”

“You’re the one who’s wasted our time this morning,” Millie lectured him primly as her fists rested on her curvaceous hips. “You can’t blame me.”

No, he couldn’t. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t gotten that fool notion about Millie’s dress into his head, he could have gone on thinking about her as a... well, a troublesome hostage. A burden to be shed. But now he was going to be hard-pressed to look at her again without thinking of her as she appeared now, that camisole sticking to her collarbone and cleavage, her petticoats outlining her tiny waist, her hips and her shapely legs.

Damn. He trained his eyes away, on the spot where they’d left the horses. “All right. It’s my fault. Now hurry up and get your clothes on.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “First you want them off, now you want them on! And all the while you keep pointing that gun at met — How do you expect me to act efficiently under these circumstances?”

Patience, Sam told himself, turning away as he listened to her fuss over the scads of little buttons she had to contend with. The rippling pond mocked him now. If only there were time, he could use a therapeutic dunk in that cold water himself.

Tom McMillan, Chariton’s sheriff for going on twenty years, was well-known for being a man of few words, so when the few he chose to tell his hastily gathered but handpicked posse were shoot to kill, Horace Lively was sure the sheriff meant them.

Poor Millicent, his little princess, all alone with that brutal outlaw. And her so unused to the rough conditions she was probably being exposed to! How would she survive?

He swallowed, fighting back a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that had been there ever since the sheriff had come around with Millie’s bonnet, asking a lot of questions. But, of course, he’d begun to anticipate the worst when Millie wasn’t home for dinner that afternoon. Oh, he never should have quarreled with her! If only he could be sure she had survived thus far. He was an old man, had been through four years of battle during the War between the States, but he’d never faced anything so frightening as the prospect of losing his dear daughter.

He just had to stay calm, keep himself together, as he had been doing. Now if only he could convince Lloyd Boyd to comport himself in the same dignified way. Millie’s fiancé had completely fallen apart when he discovered she was missing. Even now he was fondling the little redbird on Millie’s bonnet, which he held in a white-knuckled grip.

“Shoot to kill?” Lloyd wailed, jumping up from where he was sitting on the wooden sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office. He looked beseechingly from Horace to the sheriff and then back again. “With Millicent nearby?”

“The sheriff knows what he’s doing, son,” Horace tried to explain. If only he could be certain of his own words.

Sheriff Tom continued instructing his men. “Now you all heard Ed and Toby’s story. Sam Winter is a shifty, brutal character, just like that brother of his, and apparently he’s a lot stronger than he looks. Any man who could overtake two lawmen on horseback while his hands are cuffed would have to be.” He eyed his red-faced deputies sternly.

The sheriff thought the incident of the escaped convict made a laughingstock of him and his deputies in the eyes of the community. There was talk of incompetence going around, though not about Tom. That man had a will of iron, everyone knew, and tended to be overzealous in pursuit of justice. Especially when it involved somebody he didn’t particularly like. And he very clearly disliked Sam Winter and his brother.

“Tom,” Horace said, stepping forward, “don’t forget Millicent is riding with the man. I don’t want Millicent hurt.”

“Oh, right,” Tom drawled for the benefit of the others. “Try not to hit the girl. Now we’re going to branch out in two groups....”

The perfunctory words failed to comfort Horace. As did the directions that followed. The trigger-happy sheriff was going to head the posse himself, and leave Ed and Toby in charge of Jesse Winter at the jail. Oh, Horace was glad that so many had turned out to join the search party, and he would be following the sheriff so that he could hear about events as they developed. Still, all the men in front of him seemed more interested in the prospect of catching the escaped criminal than ensuring the safety of his daughter.

All except Lloyd Boyd. And precious little good the hysterical young bank clerk was going to be in the search.

“Poor, poor Millie!” Lloyd wailed, combing his hands through his pale hair in a gesture of anguish. “Will we ever see her again, see her lovely face, hear her bright, tripping laughter?”

How a man could think so flowery in the midst of a crisis was beyond Horace’s understanding. “We’ll find her, Lloyd. Pull yourself together.”

“I know. I must be strong. For Millicent,” Lloyd said in an earnest attempt to tamp down his emotions. “But if there were only something more I could do!”

Lloyd’s hysteria, signaling as it did a genuine concern for Millie, touched Horace’s heart. He had been right to tell Millie that the young man would make a good match for her. Millie got engaged and disengaged with dizzying regularity—and Lloyd was an upstanding, sober young man. Or had been. Now he seemed to crumble before Horace’s eyes.

“You’re doing all you can by riding with McMillan’s posse, son,” Horace assured him. Then, looking at the young man’s red, anxious face, he added, “Just remember to stay out of the way.”

Unoffended, Lloyd nodded. “I’ll stay right with you, sir.”

Horace took a deep breath. Though it grated on his nerves, the boy’s hysteria was easier to stomach than the bloodthirstiness of the other men gathered.

More than his own deputies’ embarrassing loss of their prisoner, Sheriff Tom had used Millicent’s apparent kidnapping as a call to arms. But now that they were all assembled, no one seemed especially concerned about whether she was dead or alive. Except Lloyd.

And one other man. But Horace didn’t notice him, and neither had anyone else. He had disguised himself so that he could blend into the crowd as just another citizen, and was hanging back — but not too far back—listening and watching, examining the gray-haired, droopy-eyed colonel’s wary reaction to the sheriff’s directives.

Horace P. Lively was worried sick about his daughter. Anybody could see that—even a man who could barely see at all. The old gentleman was as despairing in his silence as the younger man next to him was in all his breast-beating grief. Lively didn’t think the sheriff was going to find his daughter.

Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t, the man thought. But the old codger was right about one thing. The sheriff didn’t give a flip about Millicent Lively. Just about Sam Winter.

The stranger saw things differently. Whether Sam Winter lived or died was of no importance to him. But Millicent Lively—now she was another matter entirely....

“I’m certain I’ll catch cold now after being wet the entire day,” Millie said crossly. She knew she was whining, but she couldn’t help it. She was bound to a tree trunk, and uncomfortable, and hungry again.

Wasn’t Sam Winter human? Didn’t he get hungry, or tired, or cold?

How would she know? she wondered in frustration. They had been riding side by side for two days now, and she knew as little about him tonight as when they’d left Chariton. His continued silence alarmed her. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t understand a person who didn’t talk—although that was puzzling—but, even stranger, that he seemed genuinely to want to say things to her. Otherwise, why would she have caught him watching her in that odd, almost pained way so often today?

Unless she looked funny. That was always a possibility, given that she’d dressed this morning so hurriedly, without a mirror, in a mud-caked frock. Even her normally perky, fashionably curled bangs drooped down to her eyebrows. But whose fault was that?

“Sam...”

He was leaned up against another tree, his long, lanky legs stretched out in front of him. “What?” he said, his voice annoyed and completely devoid of curiosity.

“Well, if you’re going to be that way about it, never mind,” she answered peevishly.

She heard a long sigh, then noticed that he sat up straighter. “What is it?” he asked, his tone only slightly more patient.

She sniffed proudly. “I only wanted to ask you if you thought I looked all right, but you don’t have to tell me.”

“Why? Are you sick?”

“No, I was just concerned with my appearance.” When he failed to say anything, she added, “You know...my physical appearance.”

“You look fine.”

“How would you know? You didn’t even glance at me!”

Reluctantly, he turned his head. She could see his gray eyes watching her across the darkness, with that same strange look in them that she had noticed so many times that day as they rode.

He really wasn’t unattractive, even though he was badly in need of a shave and generally scruffier than when she’d first seen him. His face was almost handsome, in a common sort of way. It had taken her a while to get used to his rough, sun-darkened skin. He was almost bronze, which provided a stark contrast to his other features, gray eyes and light brown hair.

The odd look in his eye she chalked up to the same discomfort she felt. “You know what your problem is?” she asked.

The question brought a sharp laugh. “I know what several of them are, Princess. There’s the fact that the law is after me, that my brother might hang. Oh, and there’s you to deal with—”

It annoyed her when he called her “Princess” now, especially when he said the word with such a sneer of derision. “You’re hungry,” she said, interrupting him. “What you need is some real food.”

“Too bad. We don’t have any, and we don’t have time to forage, either.”

“You’ll never make it far on an empty stomach,” Millie told him. “We need to stop in a town.”

“No,” he said flatly.

As far as Millie could tell, getting Sam to take her into a town was her only chance of escape. “Why not? I wouldn’t do anything stupid,” she promised, lying baldly. She’d pictured it so many times during their long ride — getting away from him, running like a crazed woman down a sparsely populated, dusty street of a strange town, flapping her arms and yelling about the madman who had abducted her. Her daydream always ended with Sam being caught by a mob of angry townspeople, which made her feel a little sad, but relieved. Sam had kidnapped her, after all.

Daddy was probably worried out of his mind. It nearly made her cry to think about it. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what was going on in Chariton—Sam’s escape must have created quite a stir. Just her luck. Something exciting finally happens in that dull little town, and she gets abducted!

Oh, well. She was sure her father was doing something on her behalf, which did make her the center of attention, even if she wasn’t there to enjoy it. Her best friend, Sally Hall, was probably going crazy with wanting to know what had happened to her. Alberta would be fretting, too. Oh, and Lloyd Boyd. Her situation would suit the misfit bank clerk’s love of drama.

And with good reason! She had never been so dramatically worn out and hungry. She’d spent many leisurely days riding her gray mare, but never on punishing rides like these. Poor Mrs. Darwimple! Millie felt almost as sorry for her horse as she did for herself. She simply had to convince Sam to head back to civilization.

“It would be stupid trying to get away from me,” Sam told her. “And don’t tell me that’s not what you’re planning, because I can see it in your sneaky eyes.”

The accusation fascinated her. “You think my eyes are sneaky?” No one had ever called her that before. Imagine, being branded sneaky by a desperado! “You know, I do believe that’s the first thing you’ve noticed about me.”

“Hardly.” He laughed bitterly. “Besides, I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Oh, that’s all right. A girl does like to be noticed, though.”

He tossed his hands in the air. “You are the most confounded woman I’ve ever run into. Don’t you know you’re in danger? You should be angry!”

“I was.”

“Then you should have stayed that way.”

She made a tsking noise. Stay angry for two whole days? “That wouldn’t be very pleasant for either of us.” She had never had any call to endure that much emotional turmoil. Until now, of course. “Though I am mad about your decision not to go into town. I wouldn’t do anything to get away, Sam. On my honor.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered. “You’re renowned for your trustworthiness.”

“That’s right.”

“And your riding expertise.”

“Well, of course, I don’t like to brag—”

“Forget it.”

She couldn’t let him see her frustration—which was escalating rapidly. She’d never yet met a man she couldn’t wheedle into doing what she wanted. Sam might prove the first. Usually all it took was a little pleading, but he wasn’t softening a bit. Perhaps it was time to take more dire measures —like showing him exactly what kind of woman she was.

“Sam...”

After rolling his eyes, he looked over at her in irritation — until he saw that with what little mobility she had she was lifting her skirt up past her knee. Irritation turned to slack-jawed curiosity.

“I bet I can change your mind about going into town,” she said sweetly, flexing her small foot enticingly. “I have something for you....”

His eyes bugged at the glimpse of leg, but he shook his head vehemently. “S-see here now,” he stuttered in dismay. “Put your skirt back down!”

“It’s just my legs,” Millie said. “Same ones I had this morning. You didn’t seem to mind them then.”

His mouth clamped shut. “Never mind. Cover up.”

“But I wanted to show you something,” she argued, untying the small satchel at the waistband of her petticoats. She removed it, straightened her skirts and held out her offering primly.

“Oh...” he said, looking sheepishly at the velvet bag.

“It’s money. Count it,” she told him, “and you’ll see that you can trust me.”

Tentatively he reached out and took the bag from her, weighing it for a moment in his hand before loosening the drawstring. He upended the little purse and listened appreciatively as the heavy coins fell into his large hand.

“There’s twelve dollars here,” he said.

Millie smiled. “There! You see? I’ve shown you how much money I have. You can borrow however much you want. And the next time we see a town, we can just detour a little and buy ourselves some supplies. Maybe even stop over at a hotel...”

But even as she spoke, she got the oddest feeling that Sam really wasn’t giving much credence to her words. He calmly put the coins back in her purse, folded it over and placed it in the pocket of the deputy’s saddlebags he kept by his side.

“Aren’t you going to give me my money back?” she asked.

He looked at her as if she’d just sprouted two heads. “Hell, no!”

“But that’s stealing!”

Sam laughed at her. “Millie, didn’t that daddy you’re always going on about teach you to have a lick of sense? For two days you’ve been calling me a murderer, a criminal, a desperado. What did you think was going to happen to your money when you handed it over?”

“I showed you that money as an act of faith,” she argued. “So that you could trust me if we passed a town. I only wanted something decent to eat.”

He shook his head. “Good Lord, listening to you, a person would think you’d never been hungry before.”

For a moment, Millie racked her brains. “I haven’t,” she told him, a little surprised by the discovery herself. But why would a store owner’s daughter have to go without? “Until yesterday. And I must admit, I was rather excitable then—a little nervous about being kidnapped, naturally — so I didn’t notice so much. But today is entirely different.”

“Are you saying you’re not nervous anymore?”

“Well...maybe a little. But I’m just so hungry I don’t care,” she added with a moan. “And sore, and tired.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“I will when I’ve gotten my money back,” she insisted.

The petulant refusal brought her captor to his feet. He stomped over, fists balled at his sides, and towered over her. “Let’s get this straight. You’re not going to see that money again, unless I do think it’s safe to go into a town. But that’s for me to decide, you understand?”

His harsh tone irritated her — and scared her a little, frankly. She’d never seen such a hard look in his eye, or noticed him so on edge. She had half a mind to answer that she was a little on edge herself, thanks to him, but that she had the good manners to mask her foul humor. At the same time, something told her he wouldn’t appreciate a lecture on his bad breeding at this precise moment.

She tilted her chin up and contented herself with a curt “fine.” What more could she do? She was tied to a tree.

But, apparently, he wasn’t through with her. “You seem to forget sometimes who I am, and what you’re doing here.”

“As if I could!”

He paced restlessly in front of her. “Don’t you understand? You should hate me. You should be trying to escape, not giving me money.”

“I didn’t mean to give you the money,” she said.

“You shouldn’t have shown it to me, then,” he said sternly. “I’m a criminal, remember? A murderer.”

“You say the word as if you really weren’t one,” she said.

“What would you think if that was the truth, Millie? What would you say if I told you both my brother and I were innocent, and that I was on my way to bring a real murderer back to Chariton?”

“I’d say that was a likely story!”

“I didn’t kill those deputies,” he told her.

She scoffed. “Next you’ll be asking me to believe that I came along by my own free will.”

“No, I’m afraid that was entirely my fault,” he said. “But just consider this. Why do you think I brought you along, instead of doing to you what I did to the deputies?”

“Obviously,” she said, “because I’m such a valuable hostage.”

“So we’re back to that again.” He emitted a ragged sigh, then returned to his spot on the ground across from her. She could see him shaking his head as he lay back down. “Go to sleep, Miss Lively.”

He had dismissed her rationale as if it were absurd—as if she weren’t valuable to him at all. Despite the night chill, her cheeks grew warm at his lack of appreciation. It was almost as if he wished she didn’t have a wealthy father—a man most kidnappers would be proud to have their hostage related to! Instead, he was treating her as though she were a millstone around his neck. What an odd criminal.

What an odd man. She couldn’t forget the look on his face as she’d pulled up her skirt—as if looking at her leg were somehow painful to him. In a fit of self-doubt, Millie glanced over to Sam to make sure he wasn’t looking, then lifted her skirt again to check her legs for herself. They appeared fine to her. Better than fine. Irving Draper, her intended two fiancés back, had even had the audacity to remark on her shapely legs once, moments before she slapped him silly. It amazed her to think that a boring, conventional sap like Irving could appreciate her, while virile, dangerous Sam looked at her as if he wished she would cover herself with a potato sack. She could only guess that she didn’t compare well to other women of his acquaintance, who, given his character, probably consisted of floozies in fleshpots.

Now if that wasn’t insulting, what was?

A long, slim leg, pale and shapely in the moonlight. Sam didn’t think he’d forget that sight as long as he lived. Sweat popped out across his brow just from thinking about it. Millie was completely oblivious, of course. How could a woman be so prim, so haughty, and yet at times so completely heedless of propriety?

Because she was a pampered rich girl, he told himself. A young lady who considered herself so far above him that she didn’t find anything at all wrong about prancing around in wet, clingy clothes, or hiking her skirt up to her thigh. He was so far out of her circle of consideration that he might as well have been another species entirely, as far as she was concerned. Frogs and toads didn’t mix; escaped convicts didn’t mix with rich men’s daughters.

He would do well to put stock in that way of thinking himself. He had problems aplenty aside from Miss Lively. He had a murderer to catch.

He reached down and felt the small lump in his pocket and was reassured that the ring was still there. His evidence. In his mind’s eye, he could see the inscription on the inside. T to D, it read in bold script. He had a good idea that D stood for Jesse’s old partner, Darnell Weems. But he couldn’t be certain. And who was T?

Finding Darnell Weems was only half the battle — assuming he could even make it out to Little Bend, Darnell’s home, without being caught by the law. Most likely, Darnell wasn’t going to confess to killing his friend’s wife. Why should he, when Jesse was about to hang for the crime?

Jesse hadn’t been able to understand why his friend would have traveled halfway across a state to murder a woman he’d never met. He and Salina had married after he and Darnell parted ways. Yet he swore he’d seen Darnell riding away from the house while he was out hunting the night of the murder. Then, when he returned home, he’d found Salina, and the nightmare had begun. The law had arrived, and when it became clear that the sheriff meant to have his revenge on Jesse by painting him as a wife killer, Jesse, still half out of his mind with grief, had run. The ring had been discovered later by a kind old neighbor lady who was by Jesse’s to clean up the place. She’d promptly brought the engraved band to the jail, but the mysterious clue had interested Sam more than it had Jesse, who by the time it was found was beyond caring about his own life.

Jesse always wanted to think the best of people. But Sam had no illusions. After their parents died, Sam had tried to bring his little brother up to be practical. Jesse had the dreamer in him, though, and had gone his own way. He’d met up with Darnell in Colorado, and for two years the two of them had tried several schemes together — from cattle driving to gold mining. Finally they’d won two plots of land in a poker game. To decide who got which, they had flipped for them. That was the last they’d seen of each other, except for Jesse’s last brief glimpse of Darnell in the night. Maybe Darnell harbored some resentment for getting the lesser plot of land out west.

Even so, Jesse didn’t want to think the worst of his old friend. All along, he’d sworn that Darnell wasn’t a bad character. But Sam didn’t believe it for a moment.

He was going to find Darnell Weems and, come hell or high water, he would squeeze a confession out of him. There had to be a reason behind Salina’s murder. And whether Jesse liked it or not, Sam intended to prove it was his friend’s doing. Or else die trying.

Chapter Three

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Bob Jitter remembered those words from when he was a kid. Back then he hadn’t known what coveting was all about, but he did now. Yes, sir, he sure did.

Jitter hung back in the cabin’s small kitchen and watched the newlyweds fight. Watching and coveting was about all there was to do around the place these days. Darnell’s cattle had up and died, the little garden they’d cultivated in the spring had dried up by July. If it weren’t for Darnell’s wife, Tess, Jitter was sure he would have left. Though he considered Darnell a friend, as well as his employer, that didn’t change the fact that there was little around the place for him to do. But ever since Darnell had brought his bride home at the beginning of summer, Jitter had found himself stuck on the old place as surely as if he were knee-deep in mud.

“C’mon, Jitter, back me up here,” Darnell said, turning away from his wife to plead with his friend in the corner.

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Jitter replied. A person would have to be a fool to go up against Tess. Maybe an even bigger fool to marry her. But she had the looks and a figure men were apt to make fools of themselves over — himself included, he feared.

Many was the night he lay dreaming about her, dreaming about what if she weren’t another man’s wife. Probably she wouldn’t spare him a second glance. But at least then he’d have a right to his dreams, to conjuring up the image of himself winding that long, silky blond hair through his fingers, and staring into those icy blue eyes. She was only a few inches shorter than his own six feet, and every inch of her soft, womanly curves. He doubted he had ever come so close to a woman so beautiful, yet she was completely out of his reach.

Once, she had been in his reach. Jitter and Tess had checked into a Buffalo Gap hotel together as man and wife, “Mr. and Mrs. Darnell Weems,” while Darnell went to take care of his old partner. Of course, his being in the hotel with Tess had been pretense, an alibi, but as he sat up all night in a chair, watching Tess as she lay across the big double bed, her blond hair flowing on the pillow, the temptation had been achingly real.

“What kind of man are you?” Tess shouted across the room at her husband, startling Jitter out of his guilty thoughts. Her blue eyes flashed with contempt at the slightly hunch-shouldered man standing across from her.

“I done what you wanted, Tess,” Darnell argued.

“Don’t try clearing your conscience by heaping your sins on my head, Darnell Weems.”

“But you was the one who said that if we’d have got Jesse’s land in Chariton instead of this patch of dust in Little Bend, we’d be a lot better off.”

“I’m sure you would have figured that out sooner or later,” Tess replied snidely.

But Jitter wasn’t so sure. It was Tess who, as a disgruntled new bride, had made the discovery that the deed to their land was actually in both Darnell’s and Jesse Winter’s names. At first she had only wanted to ensure that Jesse didn’t come snatch the land out from under her in the event of Darnell’s untimely demise. But after hearing the story of how Darnell and Jesse had won two parcels of land on either side of the state from a man who signed over the deeds in their names, and then flipped a coin to see who would get which, Tess had hatched an even better plan. Because if the deed to Jesse Winter’s land still bore two names, then Darnell — and she, too — would have a legitimate claim to it in the event of Jesse Winter’s untimely demise. Which she had soon convinced Darnell to arrange.

“You said you would be happy if’n I did what you wanted,” Darnell said, hurt. “But you ain’t happy. I’m beginning to think you ain’t never been happy.”

“Not since I laid eyes on you, I haven’t!” she replied in a fury. “You bungle everything you put your hand to. You couldn’t even kill the right person.”

Darnell’s shoulders tensed. “But I told you, I just saw a body in bed and assumed...” His voice trailed off helplessly as something inside him seemed to deflate. “And then... then it was too late.”

“You should have waited until Jesse got back.”

“But I couldn’t. I’d just done murder, Tess. You know what that means?”

She crossed her arms and sent him a withering stare. “In for a penny, in for a pound, I always say.”

“But she was just laying there, bleeding. His wife. I just sat there thinkin’, what if it had been different. What if that had been you, hon?”

“Then I hope whoever had gone to the trouble of snuffing me out would have the sense to wait around for the right victim to come along.”

Darnell, his rusty-haired good looks marred by his hangdog expression, ceded the point. “Well, I didn’t.”

“And now you won’t even listen to reason. We can go get that land, Darnell. Good land. You said yourself he ain’t got no relatives, ’cept his brother, who’s going to jail, too. You’re his partner, and you won that land together. You got as much right to the place as anybody. More. Your name’s on the deed. Just because you flipped some fool coin, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“But I murdered his wife, Tess.”

“Stop saying that!” Tess paced back and forth, her long legs crossing the room with few steps, and looked back up at her husband periodically in annoyance. “Worrying about that is making you sick, weak. Jitter and I spent the night in that hotel, so there couldn’t be any problems. Buck up!”

“It ain’t so easy,” he snapped back.

She stopped her pacing and turned on him, her fists planted firmly on her hips. “Well, it ain’t so easy for me, either, sitting here and watching a golden opportunity pass us by. I didn’t marry you so’s I could be poorer than I ever was, you know. I thought you were somebody that was going places.”

“It’s just been a bad year, that’s all,” he said, his tone full of resentment.

“Well, it’s not gonna get any better with you sittin’ around on your duff all day, too afraid to go and get what should have been yours in the first place.”

“You can’t expect me to just waltz into Chariton to see my old friend hang, Tess.”

“You were happy enough to waltz in when you were aimin’ on murdering him.” The truth finally shut Darnell up, and Tess took advantage of the moment to ram her argument home. She walked over to him, sidling up real close, and meekly took his hands. “Oh, Darnell,” she said, her voice pleasingly appeasing, “I just want what’s best for both of us. You know how I want a family.”

Darnell scuffed one foot against Tess’s immaculate kitchen floor. “Aw, I know.”

“But I can’t see us having a family out here,” she said, staring at him with those blue eyes of hers. She could make them go all gooey when she wanted to.

Times like these, Jitter could understand clearly how Darnell could have been hoodwinked into marrying a woman who had nothing but contempt for him. He had to give Tess credit for being the slyest thing he’d come across this side of a sidewinder. And she was a hell of a lot prettier.

“If we wait to make our claim, the land will be sold,” she insisted gently.

“There’s other land.”

“Not land that should have been yours to begin with.”

“It’s a bad idea, goin’ back there.”

The two of them stood toe-to-toe, almost nose-to-nose. Darnell had the advantage in height. But when Tess’s eyes started misting up, that slight edge was overshadowed.

She took a step back and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I guess you just don’t want me to be happy,” she said in a wounded tone.

Darnell released a raw sigh. “Aw, hon. Of course I do. Didn’t I marry you? Didn’t I add on this nice kitchen for you? Nothin’s more important in the world to me than you.”

“That was months ago,” she said, squeezing another teardrop out. This one she allowed to fall dramatically down her pale cheek. Jitter could almost feel its warm progress down her soft skin. “You sure don’t act like you love me anymore, Darnell.”

That little tear was Darnell’s undoing. He stepped forward and gathered his wife into his arms and kissed the blond hair at the crown of her head. As the two embraced, Jitter felt his breath hitch in his throat, and his gut wrenched so uncomfortably that he had to look away. But not for long.

“I do, you know I do,” Darnell said soothingly. “I just don’t want to risk too much at once.”

She sniffed, all the while running a long-nailed hand up and down Darnell’s back. Jitter shivered.

“But we gotta take risks sometime,” she said, “if we’re gonna get ahead. Don’t you think so, Darnell?”

He hesitated—or maybe he was just a little bit distracted by that hand skimming his spine. Finally, he caved in. “I guess you’re right.”

She hugged him more tightly. “Oh, I’m not even sure I want to go, anyway,” she said. “I don’t have a nice thing to wear — we’ll never fit into polite society with me lookin’ like an old shoe.”

Now that Darnell was licked, he was all smiles. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna sell everything left here that could raise money, and before we go back east, we’ll stop in Little Bend and buy you the nicest dress there.”

She beamed up at him. “Oh, Darnell, you’re so good to me!”

Darnell bent down and kissed her on the lips, long and hard. The two remained in an embrace until Tess pulled back, flashing her husband a delectable smile.

Finally, Darnell glanced around, remembering that someone else was in the room. “You okay, Jitter? You look all pale and clammy.”

Jitter shook his head. He didn’t care how mean she was. He would have done anything to trade places with Darnell at that moment. Good thing he could still call to mind scraps of his Bible learning. Thou shalt not... shalt not...

From the top of a long grassy hill, Sam looked down at a rough log building. A sign out front, above the door, announced it to be a store — but it couldn’t be much of one, given its size and its location. Yet the place was bound to have something that would make the next few days a little more bearable. He was beginning to feel as worn out and empty as his hostage looked. And with any luck, he could be in and out before the proprietor even took notice of him.

With any luck... That was a good one! When was the last time he’d felt lucky? Moments before making the acquaintance of Millicent Lively, that was when.

He sneaked a glance at her now, trying to detect whether her expression was at all smug. She was getting what she wanted, after all. But no, her face was perfectly serene, devoid of any outward show of triumph. She stood, her thin shoulders straight, her head erect, looking directly down at the little building. Her yellow dress was dust-covered and raggedy, yet he hadn’t been completely successful in disguising it; bright patches still showed through.

“I guess I’ll tie you up back here,” he said.

She turned on him, her eyes round. “Tie me up? Why?”

“So you won’t gallop away when I’m gone.”

“But I want to go with you!”

He rolled his eyes. He should have expected her to be difficult on this point. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Look—it’s just a little trading post. You won’t be missing out on much.” He shot her a keen glance. “Unless you were planning on trying to escape.”

“I told you I wouldn’t!” she cried. “I gave you my word. You can’t just leave me out here, tied up to some tree.”

Sam leaned forward on his saddle. “Why not?”

“Well... I’d scream.”

“Not if I muffled you.”

“You would do that!” she said in disgust. “But just the same, it’s a bad idea. What if someone saw me out here? There’s no place around where you could hide me and Mrs. Darwimple.”

She had a point there. And she knew it.

“If someone should happen upon me, once I was free you’d be caught for sure,” she continued. A second later, she added smartly, “And then you would have lost your very valuable hostage.”

Millie apparently wasn’t going to let go of that pet theory, no matter how many problems she caused him.

“If you go down there with me, I’ll be watching you every minute.”

“I know.”

“Don’t think you can escape.”

“I don’t,” she answered, tossing her head testily. “I’m no fool. Besides, didn’t I tell you that you could trust me? I have a repu —”

“I know, I know,” Sam interrupted. “You’re as honest as a looking glass.”

She shrugged immodestly. “I’m only repeating what people tell me.”

He smirked. “Guess what? I’m honest, too.”

Millie’s eyebrows raised dubiously. “I didn’t say I was gullible!”

“You see, Millicent, I have a theory that most people are honest... until chance forces them to be otherwise. Good people lie when they’re in trouble and can’t see any other way out. Some people, the lucky ones who never have to face serious troubles, never are really tried.”

As he spoke, Millie’s jaw went slack. “Are you insinuating that I have never had real troubles?” she asked in astonishment. The very thought made her laugh incredulously. “Believe me, Mr. Winter, if anyone’s life was ever a strain, it’s mine! You had no way of knowing this, of course, but my mother died right after I was born, and since I was a little girl, I’ve borne the responsibility of running my father’s household, and being his hostess.”

Sam waited for further tales of woe, but apparently planning her father’s dinner parties was the extent of the strain in Millicent Lively’s sheltered life. “That’s it?” he asked.

“No...” She sighed. “This might come as a shock to you, but my life is hardly as exciting as it might seem to an outsider.”

“You’re telling me that on top of having responsibilities, you’re bored,” he guessed.

“Boredom is a strain!” she said.

“Listen, Princess,” Sam replied, anxious to get moving. “There are a lot of people in the world who would pay to have your troubles.”

“Well, of course! I know that. That’s the whole point of being rich. But you can’t say my life is carefree.”

“Maybe not now, at any rate,” Sam allowed, swinging down from the black. He took Millie’s arm. “Get down.”

“Why?” Her face showed alarm. “I thought you were going to take me.”

“I am. But you’ll have to go bareback. That saddle sticks out too much.”

She let herself down and watched as he ungirthed the saddle and slid it off the gray’s back. “I’ve never ridden Mrs. Darwimple without a saddle,” she said.

Somehow, it didn’t surprise him. Millicent Lively probably had a groom to saddle and unsaddle her horse at her every whim. “Chalk this up as part of that troubled life you were whining about.”

Millie crossed her arms petulantly. “Just because you’ve gotten yourself into a mess, that’s no reason to be sarcastic.”

Without a word, he turned and walked toward her, his arms outstretched.

“What are you doing?” she asked, stepping backward as if she suddenly expected to be mauled out here in an open field.

“I’m going to put you on top of that horse,” he said, hoisting her light frame onto his shoulders and heaving her onto the dappled mare. “We don’t have time for you to try to fuss about how you’re going to get up there on your own.”

She pounded a fist against his back until, with a final shove, she found herself seated on the horse. Sideways.

“You could have given me some warning before you started throwing me around like a sack of flour!” she protested, her face flaming as she awkwardly straddled the horse. Her skirts hiked up her legs, and she struggled to cover herself.

Sam looked away. Not that it did any good. He wouldn’t forget what those legs looked like anytime soon. “Just remember,” he said, nudging the black into a walk. He held up Toby’s derringer for her benefit. “Once we get near the store, my finger won’t be far from the trigger, so stay close and keep your mouth shut.”

She shot him a wry glance. “Since you put it so sweetly, how could I do otherwise?”

“Murderers aren’t supposed to be sweet,” he reminded her, hiding his amusement as he urged their horses into a trot and watched Millie bounce and slip all over Mrs. Darwimple’s back.

Millie fumed all the way down the hill. Not just because Sam refused to slow to a pace that would allow her to keep her seat without having to hug Mrs. Darwimple’s neck for dear life, either. Worse. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Sam had been trying to insinuate that she was spoiled.

Her!

Millie had known coddled people before, and she definitely wasn’t one of them. Her aunt Clara in New Orleans had never even brushed her own hair. How was that for spoiled? Or what about Sally Hall? Now there was a pampered girl. When Sally was upset over her broken engagement to Warner Simms, her parents had sent her to Europe for an entire year! Millie had tried that trick on her father, but after eleven broken engagements she hadn’t been sent anywhere besides her room. And now he actually wanted her to get married!

Besides, if the hallmark of a spoiled person was that she didn’t do work, then she just didn’t fit the bill. Far from it. Why, the very moment Sam found her, she had been picking pears that, once she’d run away long enough to bring her father to heel, she’d intended for a dessert for the family dinner. If that wasn’t work, she didn’t know what was — and look what a dangerous task it had turned out to be! She would have to remind Sam of that.

Of course, if she did tell him she would probably be forced to explain that she wasn’t actually going to do anything with those pears except hand them over to their family cook, Sonya. She herself didn’t know one end of the kitchen from the other. How could she? She’d been a motherless child, and after Sonya had caught her burning a batch of muffins all those years ago...

Well, anyway, lots of women couldn’t cook.

Not that she actually cared what Sam thought, anyway. Why should she? It wasn’t as if being a criminal were a noble way to spend one’s time. It was far better to be a lady of enviable leisure than to run around killing people!

The thought made her feel much better about herself, and she glanced over at him with a renewed sense of self-satisfaction. Or as much as she could muster, looped as she was in such an undignified position around her poor horse. Sam rode straight and tall atop his black horse, his eyes scanning the horizon for signs of other riders approaching the small building.

Watching him, it was hard to believe he was the ruthless outlaw she’d seen murder two deputies with her very own eyes. Yet so much was deceiving about Sam Winter. He spoke like a man of some education, and his manners weren’t unrefined. Not completely, at any rate. Of course, traveling out in the wild didn’t bring out the best in anyone, least of all herself. She was certain her daddy would have some choice words to say to her if he could have seen her traipsing around in her underclothes yesterday morning.

That was another strange thing about Sam’s behavior. In most of the books she’d read, criminals didn’t treat women so...gingerly. Sam had barely even spoken to her unless circumstances forced him, and he certainly hadn’t made any advances on her person. Thank goodness! She didn’t know what she would have done if she’d been kidnapped by someone more unmannerly.

In fact, if Sam weren’t her captor, she would have been tempted to say that his rough edges were rather endearing. True, he was overly gruff toward her at times, and perhaps a little too unconcerned about her comfort, but she couldn’t deny that she found his wry humor charming, in its own peculiar way. And his dismissive way of treating her was a bit refreshing, frankly. Most men she knew made perfect fools of themselves trying to be nice to her and treat her as though she were a delicate flower. Not Sam. The moment he tied her to a tree and threw a horse blanket over her, she’d known he was different from all the others.

Millie sighed. Just as she had expected, it would be a little sad to part company with this strange man. And she would be terribly sorry to see him follow his brother to the gallows, as he no doubt would. Perhaps he might even beat Jesse there. Killing two sworn officers of the law topped wife-murdenng any day, in her book. Even so, she couldn’t deny having fallen under Sam Winter’s spell, just a tiny bit.

What woman wouldn’t? He was handsome in a rugged way that she just didn’t run across among the men she knew. And his voice was deep, melodious. And his gray eyes practically lit up when he teased her. And when he touched her, as he had when he lifted her onto Mrs. Darwimple...

Oh, it was hopeless. What was the use of dwelling on details? They might serve her well when she was relating the events of her exciting abduction to Sally, but in the meantime, she was better off not romanticizing the man too much. After all, he’d be as good as dead once she was through with him.

Right now she had to concentrate on the task ahead of her. She couldn’t forget Sam’s threat; alerting the proprietor of the store that she had been kidnapped was going to be no easy task, with a gun trained on her the entire time. She only hoped that the person who owned the store was big and strong—or at least bigger and stronger than Sam.

As they slowed to a walk in front of the low building, she got a better look at the sign. Ned Sparks’ General Store She felt as if her whole future were in Ned Sparks’s hands

Sam eyed her cautiously. “You remember what I said?”

She straightened. “Of course.”

“Good. Get down—and don’t make any fast moves. And don’t talk unless whoever’s inside talks to you first. Understand?”

She gritted her teeth and nodded. Then she slipped off her horse. There was no other way to describe it. She put one leg back and lost her grip on the animal’s slippery hide and shot to the ground with a thud. As she landed, she half expected to hear gunfire, although that particular fast move hadn’t been intended. But instead, Sam appeared beside her and kindly yanked her back up to her feet.

“Sorry,” he said as she dusted her backside off heatedly. “I forgot that your excellent horsemanship might not extend to the fine art of dismounting bareback.”

“Never mind,” she muttered. She wasn’t going to argue with the man now. She needed him to think she was going to do exactly as he wanted. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“You first,” he said, gesturing for her to walk ahead.

With some trepidation, she pushed open the door of the little store. Once she got a look at the dark, dusty place, she was doubly certain that she needed to be rescued soon. She couldn’t imagine them buying anything there that she would actually want to eat.

“Well, hello there!” a voice cried out.

Millie looked around, but could see nothing — nothing besides old warped shelves stacked with dusty cans and jars, barrels full of who knew what, and bolts of mildewy cloth propped up against the walls. Finally, a head peeked over the long counter to her right — an old, wrinkled, bald head.

“You’re Ned Sparks?” Millie couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. This was the man who was supposed to overcome her kidnapper and rescue her? Not likely! The man was seventy if he was a day — not to mention the fact that he was at least two inches shorter than she was.

Sam’s hand clamped firmly around her arm, a reminder of his don’t-speak-unless-spoken-to rule.

“Sure, I’m Ned,” the man replied genially, plainly not realizing his reply sank Millie’s hopes completely. “How do?”

“Just fine,” Sam said, his manner equally friendly. “We just stopped for a few provisions.”

“Are you the only person here?” Millie asked boldly, ready for gunfire. At this point, she hardly cared. She couldn’t believe her bad luck.

“Sure am, little lady. Would ya’ll be headed east or west?” Ned asked curiously.

“West,” Sam replied.

“Well... I just come from the east myself!” The man beamed a partially toothed smile at them. “Fort Worth. You folks are lucky you found the store open. Just got back this morning.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yessir. Got me a ride on a fast wagon yesterday. Drove all night.”

Sam nodded. Millie could feel the tension in his hand on her arm, the fear that this brush with the store proprietor was costing him. Was he worried that the man had heard about the kidnapping, Millie wondered, or was he concerned that she might blurt something out to the old man? If it was the latter, she would be perfectly willing to put Sam’s mind at ease. She didn’t see much point in trying to enlist the old fellow’s aid.

When Sam failed to respond further, Ned continued, “I was off visiting my married sister. Lives in Fort Worth. How ’bout you? Where out west are you headed, exactly?”

Sam hesitated, his mouth slightly opened, then blurted out, “We’re eloping.”

Millie shot him a shocked glance, her mouth agape. Not only had he not answered the man’s question, he’d come out with something totally unexpected. Yet she soon saw the wisdom in Sam’s improvisation. If he’d intended to get the proprietor’s mind off precise destinations, he couldn’t have said anything better. When she looked back at Ned, he was all smiles.

“How ‘bout that!” he cried. He let out a little whoop, then winked at Millie and leaned forward to whisper confidentially, “I was wonderin’ why he was holdin’ on to you so tight, but now I know. He’s scared a handsome fellow like me’s gonna steal his little bride away!”

He chortled merrily and winked again as Millie laughed limply along with him. Even Sam managed to force out a chuckle or two.

“Well, well,” Ned went on. “What can I get for ya?”

Sam smiled, relaxing a little at Millie’s continued silence. “Well, Ned,” he said, shooting her a satisfied smile, “we just stopped by to get the wife a little grub.”

“Don’t want to take time off from the honeymoonin’ to go huntin’, is that it?”

“How did you guess?” Sam replied, squeezing Millie around the waist.

Millie felt her face flame at the implication — as if she would honeymoon with a desperado! Yet at the same time, she kept her tongue. This poor old man didn’t know about her predicament, and couldn’t do anything about it even if he did. The best she could hope for at this point was some good food.

She scanned the dusty shelves, full of jars with questionable contents, hoping to see something that caught her eye. Instead, her gaze alit on something far more interesting.

“A newspaper!” she exclaimed.

Ned turned to it with interest. “Just brought it back from Fort Worth.”

“Would you mind if I read it some while my husband does the shopping?” she asked, squarely returning Sam’s unamused stare. “I’d like to see if anything was written about our elopement.”

Sam’s eyes sparked in warning, but Ned remained oblivious as he handed over his precious paper. “Go right ahead,” he urged. “Me and your husband will round you up some real nice vittles.”

Millie’s heart raced excitedly as they moved away, leaving her to leaf through the pages in private. There was sure to be news of her kidnapping from Fort Worth. If she could just figure out a way to scrawl a message across the newspaper, maybe the old man could help after all....

She didn’t have far to look. Prisoner Escapes in Chariton , the story beneath the fold on the first page began. The next line in bold read, Young Lady Abducted, Two Deputies Escape Attack Unharmed. Millie quickly scanned the story, looking for her name, which wasn’t mentioned. Just that she was a daughter of Old Lightfooted Lively. Now wasn’t that silly? How was anyone expected to find her if the paper didn’t print her name?

Her eyes were moving quickly across the page when suddenly she stopped, then looked back up, certain she had misread. Two Deputies... Unharmed.

Unharmed. But how could that be?

She had seen the “attack” with her very own eyes — had seen Sam brutally fell the two men, beating them repeatedly. They hadn’t moved a muscle after that. Not when he’d dragged them over to that tree and—

The blood drained out of her face so quickly that she thought for a moment that she might faint. She refolded the paper, then leaned back against the counter, attempting to gather her racing thoughts.

First he’d beaten the deputies. Then he’d dragged them to a tree and tied them up. Tied them up! Why would he have bothered to tie up two dead men? Or shoo away their horses?

The answer was so simple. They had never been dead at all. Sam hadn’t murdered anyone.

Oh, how could she have been so silly? How could she have made such a terrible misjudgment?

Across the small room, Sam and Ned conferred over various jars and kegs. At one point, Sam sent her a worried glance, as if he could tell that all was not right with her. But then he was forced to haggle with Ned over some sadlooking dried meat that made Millie’s stomach lurch once again.

This new development threw everything into confusion. Sam was innocent of what she’d accused him of. She had proof of that now. Was his story about his brother being innocent also true?

She looked again at Sam. His proud, straight back. His head of dusty hair, his sun-darkened skin, his intelligent gray eyes. Was he an honest man, as he had claimed? Could she have misjudged him so completely?

It appeared she had.

She blushed to think about the hateful things she had said to him, the names she had called him. So many times he had told her the truth and she had turned a deaf ear, unswerving in her certainty about what she had witnessed. Only what she had seen had been entirely wrong.

His gray eyes were watching her again, and his forehead was creased with worry. He was worried about her? Something in her breast fluttered, and she looked away, stunned by the suddenness of it all.

Sam was innocent. That didn’t change the fact that she was his hostage, of course, although it seemed to change practically everything else. How strange to think that she really had nothing to fear from Sam Winter after all. How strange... and how wonderful!

Chapter Four

“Isn’t this just the loveliest day you’ve ever seen?”

Sam sent his charge a doubtful glance. Up till now, Millie had said not a word after they left Ned’s little shack — just hummed and smiled — and though he appreciated the novelty of her silence, he knew the gears of deception must be grinding away in that twisted feminine mind of hers. The perky tone she chose when she finally spoke confirmed it. Something was up.

“I don’t know when I’ve seen such a lovely day,” she went on enthusiastically, sending him yet another of her beatific smiles.

That was another thing. Why was she looking at him in that simpering, cockeyed way? “You were cranky enough this morning.”

Frankly, he was surprised that she hadn’t attempted some sort of escape back at the store. She’d had ample opportunity to try to get Ned Sparks to hear her story, or to leave him some furtive message. Not that the old fellow could have been much of a help to her.

He frowned as they neared the place where he’d deposited her saddle. After knowing Millie only two full days, the idea of her not having an ulterior motive behind all this sudden complicity struck him as unlikely. These rich girls learned to use all sorts of roundabout tactics to get what they wanted from men.

Unfortunately, forewarned wasn’t always forearmed. He found himself increasingly vulnerable to those thick-lashed dark eyes of hers. While he rode, he often thought about them — and how they would look just before he kissed her. Which wasn’t going to happen, although his rambling thoughts did explain why he’d told that old man back there they were newlyweds. And probably why the old man could believe it, too. When Sam put his arm around Millie, there’d been nothing fake about the fierce stab of desire he felt for her.

Poor kid. She’d probably go screaming into the horizon if she knew what a case he had for her. He glanced warily at her.

Millie beamed. Her dark brown eyes seemed almost to sparkle at him with something that he would have sworn resembled admiration...if he hadn’t known better. That was why it was so important to get his mind off her lips and focus on what was going on inside that brain of hers.

At the top of the hill, Sam reined in his horse. Millie stopped right next to him, and slipped off without his even having to ask her. Carefully he dismounted himself, certain now that she must have some trick up her sleeve.

He walked over to the saddle and lugged it back over to Millie’s horse.

“Here, let me help you with that, Mr. Winter,” she said, coming forward with outstretched hands.

This was too much. “Don’t let’s stand on formality, Millie,” he answered politely. “You can just call me Mr. Murderer.”

She blushed and cast her eyes modestly toward the dirt at his feet. “Oh, no,” she said earnestly, “I would never call you that.”

He let out a sharp laugh as he hefted the silly saddle onto Mrs. Darwimple’s back. “Changed your mind about me, have you?”

She batted her thick black eyelashes twice before looking back at him. “Yes, I have.”

What kind of game was this? “If you think a lie like that is going to make me let my guard down, think again.”

That pointy chin lifted a little higher. “It’s not a lie. I know with perfect certainty that you didn’t kill those two deputies.”

“Did a little bird tell you?”

“No, the newspaper did.”

He looked at her in alarm.

“There was a whole long article on the front page about us — only I guess they didn’t mention my name because that would have been detrimental to my reputation.” She planted her hands on her hips in irritation. “Now I ask you, does that make sense? How else do they expect me to be found?”

Sam’s brows knit together worriedly. Being front-page news didn’t flatter him half as much as it did Millie. “Did the paper have a description of us?”

She sent him a look that let him know precisely how absurd his question was. “Most people in the area know what I look like.”

“Sure, but we’re not in the area. Ned Sparks didn’t suspect us — but maybe he hadn’t read the article yet.”

“That old man? He probably couldn’t see us well enough to identify us, anyway. Besides, he thinks we’re newly married.” She laughed. “And didn’t I play my part well? I thought you would have mentioned that.”

“You were fine,” Sam said, distracted. “You should have snatched that paper, though. That old guy might be better at putting two and two together than we give him credit for.” Sam took to his task more hurriedly. “We’ve got to put some distance between ourselves and this place.”

“Good,” Millie said cheerfully, “I’m anxious to get home.”

Sam stopped in the middle of tugging on the girth. At first, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. But the breezy way she stood nearby, inspecting her fingernails, convinced him that he had. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Aren’t we going back to Chariton?” Her wide, dark eyes were unfazed by his gruff words. “Surely you see this changes everything. I believe you, Sam.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said. “What do you want, a medal?”

“No, I merely want to go home, and now there’s absolutely no reason for us not to. Why should we be gallivanting across the countryside, now that you have a witness who can vouch for what happened? This has all just been a big mistake, and I’m perfectly willing to tell everybody so.”

At first he was dumbfounded. Just a big mistake? Finally, after staring in shock for a few minutes at her standing in front of him, her face the picture of complacency, he bit out a bitter laugh. “Oh, now that’s a relief.”

Her thin shoulders squared proudly. “I should think it would be. I’m willing to explain to my daddy, the sheriff and even a judge if need be that there’s been a terrible miscarriage of justice. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Sam couldn’t think of what to say. She really seemed to believe that all they had to do was go back and all would be forgiven. “Don’t you realize that your father has probably organized a posse to hunt me down?”

“Oh, yes!” Millie nodded. “The story mentioned that. Twenty men, it said.”

“Twenty men, all with orders to shoot to kill.”

“To kill?” The idea seemed to startle her. “But you’re innocent! I can tell them that.”

“Princess, you don’t understand. They’re going to shoot first and ask questions later. If we go within two counties of Chariton, you’ll be explaining my innocence over my carcass. It won’t be a pretty sight.”

Millie frowned distastefully. “My daddy is a reasonable man. Maybe if you sent me first—”

“Oh, no,” Sam said. “Knowing you, you’ll start talking, and soon as you know it you’ll be leading that posse straight to me.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “But if you don’t go back, or at least send me, we’ll just have to keep running.”

“That’s right,” he said. “But it’s not going to be we, Princess. It’ll just be me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And where will I be?”

“With friends,” Sam told her.

“Oh, thank heavens!” she said, obviously relieved. “I’ll go directly to Sally Hall. She’s a notorious gossip, but if I twist her arm and tell her how absolutely imperative—”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Are you completely addlebrained? I’m not sending you to your friends,” he informed her.

Millie blinked. “Oh.”

“Actually, Gus Beaver was a friend of my father’s, but I count him as one of my own, too.”

Her expression, so recently smug and self-assured, now flushed with confusion and just a touch of panic. “Where does this Gus Beaver live, if I might ask?”

“About a day’s ride from here.”

“In a town?” she asked, her voice growing shrill with concern.

“Nope. He’s about as isolated as can be. That’s why I’m taking you there—so you’ll stay put.”

“Well, I won’t go!” she said, coming forward, some of the old anger flashing in her dark eyes. “This is the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard of. Here I am offering—no, practically begging!—to tell the world that you’ve been wrongly treated, and your only reaction is to abandon me alone out in the middle of nowhere with some old man you barely know!”

“I trust Gus. And you won’t be alone—he’s married.”

“Why can’t I at least go with you? That way, if you’re caught, I could —”

“Because without you along I stand a better chance of not getting caught. You stick out, Millie. Somebody’s bound to notice you sooner or later. I’ll move faster on my own.”

“But as I was trying to explain, if you were apprehended, I could vouch for your character.”

Sam was anxious to get going again. “We don’t have time to stand here all day arguing, so listen tight. It’s not only my own hide I’m concerned about. I have a brother in jail, and he’s going to be swinging from a noose in eleven days if I don’t manage to bring in the man who really killed his wife. That’s going to be a hard feat in itself, but saddled with you, Princess, it becomes nigh on impossible. Do you want to be responsible for a man’s death?”

She drew back, stung by his blunt words. “I only wanted to help.”

He handed Mrs. Darwimple’s reins to her. “Fine. Just keep doing what I tell you to do.”

“You don’t have to treat me like a hostage anymore,” she assured him, grudgingly accepting the reins. “I’m on your side.”

Somehow, her words failed to give Sam the solace he suspected was intended. Having Millie Lively on his side was about as comforting as having an ant in his boot. And, to his way of thinking, about as helpful.

Millie wrinkled her nose and, with her fingertips, held her once pristine white ruffled pinafore away from her person. The garment was letting off a dreadful odor that she felt sure not all of the scrubbing in the world could get rid of.

She couldn’t really complain. It had been her idea that Sam teach her how to clean the fish he had caught that evening in a stream they had stopped near. She’d been so excited at the process of a square meal — not to mention a chance to prove how helpful she could be to Sam—that she had eagerly volunteered for the task. But that was before she’d known what a smelly, disgusting experience it would be. Sam could have at least warned her! Her poor pinafore, a mess from all the fish guts and the wounds Sam’s knife had inflicted on her own poor hands, had been rendered unwearable, not to mention unattractive to anything but a swarm of flies.

No doubt Sam would tell her to wash it a couple of times. But with what? The man had thought to pick up things like fishhooks and a knife and ammunition for his stolen arsenal at Ned Sparks’s store, but had he thought of soap? Millie had no intention of lugging a stinky, sticky pinafore around until she got to the Weavers’ or the Beavers’ or whatever their name was. She didn’t care if Sam did think only a spoiled rich girl would be so shameful and wasteful. It was her pinafore, and she was leaving it here.

She just wouldn’t let him know about it.

She scoped out the ground around her. Everywhere the earth was dry and hard, or covered with thick yellow grass she would never be able to claw through to bury the pinafore. The only thing left to do was stash the thing away under a bush and hope Sam didn’t see it. It was nearly dark, anyway, and they would leave well before sunrise. Chances of him spotting it and forcing her to bring it along were slim.

She wasn’t certain why Sam’s opinion suddenly mattered so much. Maybe it had something to do with the quavery feeling she got every time she looked into those hard gray eyes of his—like her knees were about to collapse underneath her. No man she’d known had been capable of making her feel so fluttery inside.

After hastily pushing the pinafore beneath some leafy branches of a low bush and covering it with loose dirt and dried leaves, she hurried back to their makeshift camp.

Sam barely glanced at her as she returned. He was hunched over the smallest campfire she’d ever seen, fanning what little smoke the burning embers of mesquite wood gave off by waving a leafy branch over the fish, which, after she had scraped and mutilated the poor thing, now seemed pathetically small. Hardly worth the effort, really.

“You were gone long enough,” he said.

Sam obviously didn’t want to admit it, but Millie was certain he was glad she believed his story. In fact, she had a vague hope that she was winning the man over. Didn’t that comment about her being gone a long time indicate he had been restless for her return?

The thought gave her a little lift. “A woman likes to have some time to herself, you know,” Millie said, plopping onto the ground nearby and arranging her filthy dress neatly around her.

“Woman?” he muttered, poking at their dinner. “You’re still a kid.”

“I am not. I’ll be twenty in December.”

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