The Outlaw And The Runaway. Tatiana March

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       Chapter Two

      Celia wished she could stop babbling about her misfortunes but her tongue refused to be reined in. When she paused to fight the urge to weep, the stranger swept a careful look around them and tugged at the rawhide cord securing the patch over his left eye. She’d been wondering what damage he was hiding beneath, and now she felt ashamed for her curiosity. It was no business of hers. She steeled herself against the sight of his injury, and then gasped as she met the blinking gaze of a perfectly healthy brown eye.

      “Your eyes,” she breathed. “They’re of different color.”

      “One pale blue, one dark brown.” The man restored the patch over his brown eye. “It’s supposed to be the sign of a witch. Or, the way a girl put it once, God and the Devil are fighting over me, with one half each. A fallen angel, she called me.”

      Fascinated, Celia studied his face. Fallen angel. The description fitted. The stranger had elegant, finely crafted features, with a straight nose and high cheekbones, and wide, well-defined lips. The tall, rangy body and the breadth of his shoulders added a stamp of rugged masculinity to looks that otherwise might have appeared too beautiful for a man.

      Shamelessly, Celia let her gaze linger on the man’s countenance, wishing he hadn’t slipped the black cotton patch back in place. “Is that why you cover up your brown eye?” she asked. “As a protection from prejudice?”

      “No.” The stranger seemed to hesitate. “Having different-colored eyes is a distinctive mark. When a man rides the owl hoot trail—”

      “What’s that?” Celia broke in.

      “Owl hoot trail. It means the outlaw trail.”

      “You’re an outlaw?” She felt compelled to ask the question, even though she’d already guessed the answer. Even now, she could see the shape of the twin holsters beneath his long duster, knew he was wearing a double rig of pistols, and despite his handsome features there could be no mistaking the air of lawlessness about him.

      It occurred to Celia he might know her father was the teller at the bank. Behind his kindness might lurk a plan to extract information out of her. However, so far the stranger hadn’t mentioned the bank. Perhaps, after all, he had merely bid for her picnic basket as a caper, an amusing way to spend an hour while his partner was occupied with some errand.

      Despite his criminal associations, Celia couldn’t help but be drawn to the fair-haired outlaw. His kindness appeared genuine, not calculated. Moreover, there seemed to be an air of decency about him, a sense of honor. With a sudden lurch of her heart, Celia accepted that the outlaw had made himself vulnerable by confiding in her. By revealing his secret, he had offered her a weapon she could use against him.

      “Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly. “If such a distinctive feature might give you away, are you not worried that I might go to the marshal and enlighten him?”

      “Rock Springs has no marshal and the county sheriff is fifty miles away.”

      The answer came swiftly, the tone cool and confident. For a week now, the outlaws had been hanging around the town, and the man’s reaction solidified Celia’s suspicions. Are you planning to rob the bank? The question sprang to her tongue but she left it unsaid. As long as her father wasn’t placed in danger, she didn’t care if the outlaws took every ounce of gold in the vault. Her bitterness toward the town had grown so fierce it overruled her sense of right and wrong.

      For a moment, they sat in silence, each absorbed in their own private thoughts, yet with a sense of camaraderie flowing like a current between them. Celia let her eyes roam over the stranger, drinking in his masculine beauty while she searched for something to say, some opening gambit that would trigger a conversation so interesting he would find it impossible to walk away, but she came up with nothing.

      The man rolled up to his feet, adjusted the brim of his hat and slipped one hand beneath his duster. For a few crazy seconds, Celia thought he was going to pull out a gun and shoot her, like one might shoot a lame horse to put it out of its misery, but instead he produced a ten-dollar gold piece out of his pocket.

      “I don’t have five dollars and I expect you don’t have change.” He dropped the coin to the blanket, where it landed with a soft thud. “If you don’t want to give it to the church, hold on to it for me.”

      Celia darted out a hand and clasped the coin in her fist before anyone could see it, gripping it so hard the edges dug into her palm. She’d cherish the gold piece as a keepsake. A talisman, to bring her luck. “Hold on to it for you?” She arched her brows, her attention riveted on the stranger. “Does that mean you intend one day to come back?”

      The man said nothing, merely gave her a nod, the dip of his chin so faint it might have been in her imagination. When he took СКАЧАТЬ