Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens

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      “Were there others like you?”

      She was silent for a long moment, and then she nodded.

      “I’ve heard the stories of how some adapted, became no better than their husbands. Some didn’t. Joe’s mother died giving birth to him. His daddy is in jail—no one remembers where, though. Libby and Pansy’s mother went crazy. She walked away one day. That happened the year before I came, and Pansy was an infant. Libby said they looked for her, but not for long.”

      “It’s hard to accept that they got away with it as long as they did.”

      “The ranch is remote...and not all of the Traverses got away. Some got caught, some shot. Ram and his brother were both killed robbing a bank. They were buried where they committed their crime.” She looked at him straight on again, her eyes welling with moisture. “I’d like to say that I grieved the loss, but when word came...well, my tears weren’t sorrowful ones. All I could think of was that he wouldn’t be a poisonous influence on Flynn or the coming baby.”

      As much as he’d told her that his questions were not personal, only what he was required to ask, her answers cut him to the quick. The few Traverses out there walking free wouldn’t be for long.

      This brought him to the final question, the one he dreaded asking more than the others.

      “Will you testify against the ones we have in custody when it comes to the trial?”

      She bowed her head, closed her eyes. He thought she was not going to answer, but she nodded her head.

      “Yes, Reeve,” she whispered. “As long as you’ll be there.”

      “I’ll be there.”

      It was his job to be there. Even if it weren’t, he’d be there. Somewhere during this conversation, he had changed from lawman to friend.

      Where Melody Dawson was concerned, things were no longer strictly business.

      * * *

      “I can’t believe it,” Reeve heard Libby exclaim while she and Melody sat on the back of the buckboard with their legs dangling over the edge. “Your name is really Melody Irene? Why did you tell us it was Hattie?”

      Reeve drove the wagon team while Joe took turns giving Pansy and Flynn rides on his horse. He didn’t worry about his mount. The horse was good with children, having been exposed to his sister’s brood.

      “I just... I guess I wanted to keep that bit of me for myself.” Melody’s voice drifted toward him on the wood seat. “Ram took everything I loved away... I didn’t want to give him my name.”

      “How is it he didn’t learn your name that first day, when you met him in front of the general store?”

      “Libby, I hope you are never as foolish as I was. Meeting Ram began as a romantic lark. I thought it would be fun to pretend I was someone else.”

      “You aren’t foolish. You are the best person I know. I can’t think of how we would have gotten by without you.”

      “Still, I was very foolish.”

      For a moment, the only noise was the sound of the wheels crunching over the road and the creak of the leather tack.

      “I only hope that bringing you all home will help heal my folks’ grief.”

      Reeve turned his head to look back. Libby slipped her arms around Melody’s waist, and Melody put her arm over Libby’s shoulders. They leaned together, blond head meeting red head.

      “I hope they take to us,” Libby said, the worry in her voice apparent all the way to the front of the wagon. “We look like riffraff that the cat dragged in.”

      Their clothing did look ragged, and that was a fact. It would be important for them to make a respectable impression. Melody’s folks might be happy enough that they wouldn’t notice what their daughter or the others had on but other folks in town would be looking, and looking hard.

      Adjusting to town ways would not be easy on the children, especially Joe and Libby. They’d have a stigma to overcome, having been raised by outlaws.

      Looking their best might make a difference.

      “We’ll be coming to a town tomorrow.” Reeve looked over his shoulder again.

      Melody and Libby glanced up at him at the same time. Libby would grow to be a beauty, once she got some food in her and her blue eyes lost their slightly haunted look.

      “It’s the last one before we reach Cottonwood Grove. We’ll do some shopping. We could all use something clean to wear.”

      Melody let go of Libby then crawled across the back of the wagon, pausing for an instant to check on Seth, asleep in a wood crate. She climbed over the seat back, then settled beside him.

      “We might just as well go around the town,” she whispered. “What we have on will do.”

      It wouldn’t do. Neither would the flush of embarrassment tinting her face. He should have realized that they didn’t have any money before he spoke up.

      “There’s a fund. A victims’ fund.” There wasn’t, but he hoped that she believed him. “The government sets aside money for people in situations like yours. Just to see that you get off to a fair start.”

      Melody frowned down at her worn skirt. She grabbed a fistful of fabric in her lap. When she glanced up, there was moisture warming her dark amber eyes.

      “I’ve hated this thing for a very long time. I’ll pay the government back every cent. For what it spends on the children, too.”

      He believed that she would.

      There were women in the world who would not have made it through the kidnapping and the captivity. Like Libby and Pansy’s mother, they would have simply walked away. He admired the fact that life’s struggles had made Melody stronger rather than weaker.

      He’d seen her strength from the first moment, but ever since she emerged from the hot spring, she had taken on a new radiance.

      Not only was he impressed with her poise and her grit, but her sunny beauty, as well, even though she was a mite thin.

      Just now, he wanted to kiss her, to pull her tight against him and taste her. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in a long time.

      Chances were this warm feeling for Melody Dawson would stay with him for a long time after he left her safely in Cottonwood Grove.

      * * *

      It was hard to believe that she was walking down the boardwalk of a real town—a town less than a day’s ride from home.

      Melody recalled coming here with her parents once, but the memories were dim.

      To her right was a bakery with its door open to the cloudy afternoon. Out of it trailed the scents of vanilla and cinnamon.

      The aroma went СКАЧАТЬ