Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens

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СКАЧАТЬ had many friends growing up, most of them she’d known all her life. But she had never taken to one as quickly as she had Reeve.

      Was it foolish to trust him so quickly? Possibly, but he was everything a man ought to be and not like Ram in any way at all.

      She could not deny that with Reeve, it was almost as though they were kindred spirits with the common bond of a guilty past. He was struggling to make amends, and she would be in just a few minutes.

      She watched him move ahead of the wagon, riding tall with his broad shoulders and narrow hips rocking with the horse’s gait. He was a rare man, and she would be a long time forgetting him.

      “As ready as I’m going to be,” she whispered under her breath.

      “I’m worried, too,” Joe said, then jiggled the reins and clicked to the team. “It won’t be a secret that we’re outlaws’ kin.”

      “These are good folks.” She clutched the back of the wagon seat, too nervous to sit down. “We might be a surprise to them at first, but they’ll come around.”

      “Can we attend school?” Libby knelt behind her, close to her knee.

      “Mama will insist upon it.”

      “I think I’m going to like your mama.”

      “And she is going to adore you.”

      “’Dore me, too, Meldy?” Pansy asked, hugging tight to her sister’s arm.

      “Especially you, little flower.” Melody turned about and ruffled the little girl’s curly hair.

      Then, all of a sudden, she was home. The large white house came into view. A sob tore from her throat.

      She couldn’t help it. She leaped from the wagon, picked up the hem of her skirt and ran.

      “Mama!” she cried, opening the gate of the faded picket fence.

      That was odd. Papa never let paint fade.

      She ran up the walk. Tears streamed down her face but she didn’t care. She was home. She was safe. “Mama!”

      She tried the doorknob. It was locked. She pounded on the door. Paint chipped against her fist. She pounded some more.

      “What do you think you are doing?” a shrill voice called from the other side of the road.

      She spun about to see a woman charging forward from the house across the street. She was not the round and cheerful Mrs. Cherry whom Melody had known all of her life.

      This woman was tall, lean and pinch-faced. Her eyes snapped with indignation, as though Melody were an intruder.

      The woman wore a dress that looked as if it had come from Paris, France. She had rouge on her cheeks and even a dash of kohl around her eyes.

      “Who are you?” the woman barked, snapping her skirt as she stomped up the walk.

      “Melody Irene?” Thank the Lord! Her father’s voice came from the right, near the corner of the house. She spun toward it.

      “Papa?” she gasped.

      He took a step toward her and she dashed into his arms.

      “Papa!” She sobbed and hung on to his neck. He seemed shorter than he had, thinner, too, but she hugged him as if he was her lifeline.

      “Is it really you?” He cupped the back of her head, holding her close. “My little girl?”

      “It’s me.” Relief flooded her. She was home and Papa held her in his arms. Everything would be all right now.

      “We gave up hope.” She felt his chest heave then cave.

      “I’m sorry, Papa. I can’t tell you how sorry.”

      They hung on to each other for a long moment, hugging and weeping.

      “Mama!” Flynn called.

      At last she pulled away. “Papa, there’s someone I want you and Mama to meet.”

      She gazed into eyes that didn’t seem like her father’s. They used to be snapping blue, his expression always on the verge of a laugh. Now they were clouded... It was all her fault.

      “I’m sorry, baby...truly, truly sorry, but your mama...she passed on two years ago.”

      Papa turned her about by the shoulders. Her heart had stopped. Surely it had. Through a dizzy haze she faced the neighbor who looked as though steam might spout from her ears.

      “And this is your stepmama, Dixie.”

       Chapter Four

      “Mama!” Flynn cried out, reaching his arms over the side of the wagon. “Hold you!”

      If Melody had heard her son, Reeve would be surprised. The shock and the grief had to cut to the bone.

      The creaking of his saddle leather when he got off his horse and Flynn’s distressed cries were the only sounds that filled the anguished silence.

      He crossed the yard quickly, then stood behind Melody. He wanted to touch her in comfort but figured it would be best to simply be there.

      Despair had to be slicing her off at the knees but she stood tall with her back straight and her features set.

      “Why, you wicked girl,” Dixie murmured, allowing her gaze to roam over Melody, from head to toe and back again. “Devil give you credit, breaking your daddy’s heart, coming home bold as blazes and not just you but a passel of brats.” She glanced at Reeve, her gaze roaming subtly where it shouldn’t. “And a man.”

      He’d met this kind of woman before. Unless he missed his guess she was a whore who had become too old to ply her trade and so had latched on to a susceptible widower.

      “Marshal Prentis,” Melody said in a voice so brittle he wondered that it didn’t crack. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t even appear to be breathing. “Would you kindly take the children to the hotel?”

      If it weren’t for the fact that her composure was probably holding on by a brittle thread, he would have touched her, offered comfort.

      “Of course, Mrs. Travers,” he said instead. At least her father would know that Melody had been married. He guessed Dixie had been hinting that she was not.

      In time it would come out that Melody had been married to an outlaw, but that time was not now.

      “Come with us, Mellie,” Libby called gently from where she stood in the wagon bed. “It’s not a time to be alone.”

      “I’ll be along.”

      Reeve noticed the effort it took for her to speak those few words. Her lips trembled ever СКАЧАТЬ