The Reluctant Outlaw. Karen Kirst

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      Juliana O’Malley seethed with anger. As the miles between her and Gatlinburg stretched endlessly into the distance, she passed the time dreaming up ways to get even with the man holding her captive—everything from pushing him off a cliff to hog-tying him and leaving him at the mercy of wild animals.

      It was either that or succumb to mind-numbing fear. She was familiar with firearms all right, but never in her life had she had one waved in her face.

      Lord Jesus, please help me, she prayed. I’m in a bit of a situation here.

      If only she’d heeded her instincts. The moment she became aware of the man in black’s blatant scrutiny, she’d known that he was no gentleman. Her cheeks burned even now as she recalled how his intense gaze had taken in every inch of her. Scandalous!

      She squirmed in the saddle. His muscled arms tightened in response, imprisoning her against his rock-hard chest. His warm breath stirred the hair at her nape and prickles of awareness danced along her skin.

      Juliana squeezed her eyes tight and tried not to dwell on his disturbing nearness. At least he smelled pleasant enough, she consoled herself. Beneath the smell of horse and sweat, she detected the clean scent of soap.

      They would have to stop soon, she reasoned. They’d ridden for what seemed like an eternity, yet her kidnappers had given no sign of slowing the horses. She was hot and thirsty, her mouth gritty from the dust clouds stirred by the horses’ hooves.

      As desperately as she wanted to get off the horse, however, she wasn’t eager to find out what they planned to do with her once they reached their destination.

      As she saw it, she had only one option. Escape. She’d have to try to outrun him, because she was no match for his physical strength. Luckily, she was a fast runner. Just two weeks earlier, her cousin Caleb had challenged her to a footrace and she’d won. Not by much, but she’d won fair and square. He’d been hoppin’ mad—

      She gasped. Her mother and sisters would be wondering why she hadn’t returned with the supplies. It was her mother’s birthday, and they had a full day of work to get ready for the big celebration dinner that night. They wouldn’t worry too much at first, but with each passing hour their concern would grow until finally someone would go looking for her.

      The horses in front slowed and their mount did the same, veering off the trail into the dense woods. She straightened, nerves taut, thoughts of home scattered. What now? Would the brute release her? Here in the middle of nowhere to fend for herself? Or did he have something more sinister in mind?

      “Where are we?” she demanded. They’d used the trail along Baskins Creek heading southeast out of Gatlinburg, but she was in unfamiliar surroundings now. “What are you going to do with me?”

      The man dismounted without a word. Reaching up, his hands spanned her waist and swung her down as if she weighed no more than a sack of feathers. The imprints of his fingers against her rib cage were like branding irons.

      Fear shot through her, leaving her dizzy and weak.

      He stepped away long enough to take hold of the horse’s bridle. He tugged his bandanna down and gestured toward the other men already entering the forest. “Now we walk.”

      Juliana resisted, unwilling to blindly follow him. “I’m not moving from this spot until you answer me.”

      He spun on his heel and brought his face close to hers, his grip on her arm firm but not bruising. She’d noticed his eyes right off. A brilliant shade—dark, almost purple-blue—put her in mind of the poisonous larkspur blooms that dotted the meadows each spring. Beautiful yet deadly.

      “Do as I say, Miss O’Malley,” he said in a near whisper, “and I just might be able to get you out of this mess.”

      “You need help, Harrison?” The man who’d robbed Mr. Moore had stopped and was watching them. Something about him disturbed her. “Looks like a handful to me.”

      Her captor, apparently named Harrison, didn’t turn around. His eyes never wavering from her face, he drawled, “Good thing I like my women feisty.”

      Juliana stiffened. She opened her mouth to protest, but faltered at the almost imperceptible shake of his head. Strangely, his suggestive words were at odds with the grim light in his eyes.

      “Not me,” the other man snorted. “I like mine submissive.”

      Harrison’s mouth flattened, his features hardening to granite. He was angry, perhaps even disgusted, by the other man.

      To Juliana, he said, “There’s a stream straight ahead and some shade. We’ll rest long enough to eat a bite before heading back out.”

      Juliana felt a spark of hope. “You can leave me here. We’re not so far from Gatlinburg, after all. Might take me a while, but I can make it back before nightfall. I don’t mind walking—”

      He held up a hand. “That’s not an option. Come on, I’m parched and so is my horse.”

      “But I want to go home! My mother and sisters will be desperate to find me!”

      He glanced over his shoulder. The others had disappeared into the woods, leaving them alone. His eyes bored into hers. “Trust me. I’m going to think of a way to get you home.”

      Trust him? A common thief? He was the one who’d forced her from the mercantile and ordered her onto his horse. No, his words were empty, as substantial as a fistful of air.

      This was her chance. It might be her only one.

      Grateful that she’d chosen to wear her brand-new, hard-soled work boots, Juliana did what she’d done as a child tousling with her cousins—nailed him in the shin with the toe of her boot and with her free arm elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted in surprise and relaxed his hold.

      Juliana slipped out of his grasp and sprinted away, uncertain which direction to take. She found herself following the hard-packed dirt trail on which they’d just traveled.

      Her bonnet hung by its strings around her neck, and her hair, loosened by the jarring ride on horseback, uncoiled now to stream down her back.

      Heavy footsteps sounded close behind and a small scream escaped her lips.

      Faster! She pushed her legs to take longer strides. Her temples throbbed. Her side ached. The chase was over as suddenly as it began.

      Bands of steel encircled her waist and down she went. Her captor twisted beneath her and she landed on top of him, his body a cushion against the rocky ground. The wind was knocked from her lungs. His arms locked around her.

      “That,” he puffed angrily, “was a stupid stunt.”

      Using her hands on his chest as leverage, she arched away from him, trying to break free of his hold. Her struggles were useless against his brute strength. He held fast. With a grunt, he rolled over so that he hovered above her, hands pressing her shoulders into the dirt. His face was inches from her own, his breath mingling with hers.

      “Listen to me,” he warned through gritted teeth, “if you want to survive the night you’d better do exactly as I say.”

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