The Outlaw's Return. Victoria Bylin

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      He’d smiled that wicked smile of his, then he’d shrugged. Love doesn’t mean a thing, sweetheart.

      She’d slapped him. Before she could say a word, he’d walked away. She couldn’t bear to think about what happened next, so she glanced at the dog. It had finished the water and looked content. “I wonder if someone’s looking for her,” she remarked to Adie.

      “I’ve never seen her before.”

      “Me neither,” Josh added.

      Adie gave Mary a knowing look. “You’re going to take her home, aren’t you?”

      “Maybe.”

      Home for Mary was an apartment over the café she owned thanks to a mortgage from the Denver National Bank. She didn’t have room for a dog, but neither could she leave the animal to fend for itself. Mary had always had a heart for strays. It didn’t matter if they had two legs or four. That inclination had caused trouble in the past, but she’d learned her lesson. She loved children and dogs and wouldn’t turn them away, but men couldn’t be trusted.

      She looked again at Gertie and Augustus. Her brother stood half-hidden in the corner, eating a piece of pie. Gertie was giving her the evil eye. In another minute, the girl would storm across the room and make a scene. Mary hated arguing with Gertie, so she turned to Adie. “I’m going to start cleaning up.”

      “I’ll do it,” Adie volunteered. “You work hard all week.”

      “So do you.”

      Adie shrugged. “I have to wait for Josh. Besides, I have a favor to ask.”

      “Sure,” Mary answered.

      “When you come to supper this afternoon, would you bring a couple of loaves of that good sourdough? If I know Josh, we’re going to have a crowd.”

      Sunday supper at Swan’s Nest had become a tradition, one that had grown from a simple meal shared by the women who lived there to a feast for anyone who showed up. Josh made a point of inviting everyone from church, and today Mary had noticed some new faces. “I’ll be glad to bring all you need,” she said to Adie.

      Her friend smiled. “While you fetch the bread, I’ll take Gertie and Augustus to Swan’s Nest.”

      “If you’re sure—”

      “I am.” Both women knew Gertie could be difficult.

      “Thanks.” If Mary left now, she could squeeze in a few chores. She had to plan next week’s menus and inventory the pantry. Absently she patted the dog’s head. When it sniffed her hand, she smiled. Stephen wiggled in his mother’s arms and made a D sound.

      “Dog,” Adie prodded.

      “Da!”

      Mary felt a stab of longing for the child she’d lost. She loved children, but she had no desire to marry. After what J.T. had done, she’d never trust a man again.

      Absently rocking the one-year-old, Adie turned to her. “Are you going to take the dog?”

      Mary looked down at her. “What do you say, girl? Would you like to come home with me?” She didn’t have a lot of space, but she had plenty of scraps.

      The dog tipped its head.

      “Let’s go,” Mary said to her.

      As she crossed the room to speak to Gertie and Augustus, the dog followed her. Gertie fussed about going to Swan’s Nest, but she didn’t pitch a fit. Neither did Augustus, though Mary would have welcomed a tantrum in place of a nod. After waving goodbye to several members of the congregation, she left the saloon with the dog at her side.

      She didn’t immediately notice the man leaning against the saloon wall. It was the smell of whiskey that got her attention, then the rasp of a stifled curse. Expecting a cowboy with Saturday-night regrets, she turned to offer the man Christian charity and a slice of pie. Instead of a stranger, she saw J. T. Quinn. And instead of charity, she felt something else altogether.

      Chapter Two

      J.T. was thinner than she recalled and harder because of the leanness, a sign he’d been living on jerky and bad coffee. His brown hair had gold streaks from the summer sun, and his blue eyes still pierced whatever they saw. She felt the sharpness of his gaze and remembered…. She’d once loved this man, and she’d hated him when he’d left.

      With the changes in her life, she couldn’t give in to bitterness. She knew how it felt to be forgiven, and she had a duty to forgive others. She’d treat J.T. the way she’d treat a stranger, except he wasn’t a stranger. She knew how he liked his coffee, and she’d seen the scars on his body from bullets and knives. None of those memories mattered. This man posed a risk to her reputation. If her friends saw him, they’d ask nosy questions.

      She had to make him leave before someone else left the church. She gave him a curt nod. “Hello, J.T.”

      He tipped his hat. “Hello, Mary.”

      Unnerved by his husky drawl, she fought to steady her voice. “This is quite a surprise.”

      “Yeah.” He eyed the batwing doors. “For me, too.”

      Was he surprised to see her or surprised to see her leaving a church service? Mary didn’t know what to think. Why would he seek her out after all this time? On the other hand, what were the odds he’d visit Brick’s Saloon on a Sunday morning by chance? One in a million, she decided. Josh’s little church was unusual and well-known. Any saloon keeper in Denver could have told him she sang here on Sunday morning.

      That meant he’d come to see her, but why? No one stirred up memories—both good and bad—like this handsome, hard-edged man. Ten minutes ago Mary had been singing “Fairest Lord Jesus” from the depths of her heart. Looking at J.T., she couldn’t remember a single word.

      Help me, Lord.

      With the dog at her feet, she spoke as if nothing were amiss. “The saloon’s not open. I was here for—”

      “Church,” he said. “I know.”

      “How—”

      “I heard you singing.” He glanced at the mutt at her side. “So did my dog.”

      “Your dog?”

      “Yeah.” He looked sheepish, as if he’d admitted something embarrassing. She supposed he had. A man like J.T. traveled with the clothes on his back and his guns. He’d carry bullets before he’d pack an extra can of beans, yet here he stood looking at a dog as if it were his only friend.

      When he held out his hand, the dog licked his fingers. “You crazy thing,” he murmured.

      At the sight of such tenderness, Mary’s forgot to breathe. In Kansas she’d seen J.T. beat the daylights out of a man who’d disrespected her. He’d worked as a hired gun to ranchers wanting to chase off rustlers, and he didn’t think twice about it. He was hard, tough and mean, except with СКАЧАТЬ