Nights with the Outlaw. Lauri Robinson

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      She took his silence as an answer. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I normally don’t blurt out my problems to complete strangers. It’s just been one of those days.” With a nod of her head, she kneed Scout. An odd bout of melancholy had her twisting around in the saddle. “Have a good life, Mr. Turnquist.”

      He gave an offhanded nod, and she turned to follow the pig. Minutes later, the sound of hoofbeats following behind her made a smile tug at her lips and had her heart thudding in her chest. Why she’d asked for the man’s help was a confusing jumble in her mind, as was why she’d told him about the ranch. Clint Turnquist was a handsome man, with those kind blue eyes and sandy-shaded hair, but she’d never been fooled by a man’s looks. After all, who truly knew what the devil looked like?

      The buckskin sidled up next to Scout. “We’ll help catch your pig.”

      “I’m obliged,” she responded, hoping her tone disguised the excitement buzzing inside her. “Where’d you say you’re from?”

      “I didn’t.”

      And you aren’t going to, she reckoned. It didn’t matter, not out here. Drifters often roamed through her acreage on their way to parts unknown. Usually, she’d offer a meal before sending them on their way. Once in a while she’d offered one a chance to earn enough provisions to see him to his next stop. Her instincts were good, and she trusted them. Clint Turnquist was no different than a dozen others she’d encountered.

      Liar, her mind refuted.

      Doreena couldn’t protest, and that muddled her usual straightforward logic. The anticipation running in her veins at having this particular stranger’s company for a bit longer confused her.

      “Over there,” he said, drawing her attention to a patch of bramble brush.

      She slid her long riding crop out of its spot behind the saddle. “Just get him between the two of us, then we’ll drive him home.”

      As a team, they rousted the hog out of the underbrush, and once it was trapped between the horses, she tapped the pig’s rump with the leather tip of the crop. The hog attempted to jut sideways, but seeing Clint’s horse, quickly changed its mind. “Herding pigs is easy when there are two of you,” she said, “but with just one, it’s like chasing a bumblebee.”

      He cracked a slight grin, and the humor sparking in his eyes made her breath catch.

      Doreena kept tapping the pig, making it maintain a trot between the horses. She caught Clint looking at her more than once, and the way he’d quickly pull his gaze away had her insides quivering. She remained quiet, pondering the man a bit deeper, while the ride home went by without another mishap.

      At the ranch, he dismounted and opened the gate as she guided the pig into its pen. She was swinging out of the saddle when three fast shots rang out. Air swooshed out of her lungs as she suddenly hit the ground covered by the protective weight of Clint’s body. Stunned by his unexpected actions, she fought to breathe as Clint, still on top of her, pointed his pistol in the direction of the shots.

      Chapter Two

      Doreena’s heart pounded. Not from the gunshots, but from the heat and unusual sensations Clint’s body created in hers. His weight held her flat on her back. Once her lungs caught some air, she took a moment to contemplate the situation and the unique vibrations happening to her insides before saying, “That would be Tristan, my brother.” Catching the attention of those blue-on-blue eyes, she continued, “He wants to be a gunslinger.”

      “Oh.” Clint eased off her, glancing around the property. She followed his gaze. Pride and love for what he saw filled her. The house, the barn and sheds, as well as the pens and the land itself proved her father’s cattle business had done considerably well at one time. She’d worked alongside her parents for years building the ranch, and she wasn’t about to walk away from it without a fight. No matter what. Hope leaped inside her. Clint’s split-second reaction to the gunfire said he might be the one person who could help her.

      She took hold of the hand he held out, and rose to her feet. “It’s not completely his fault for being as frolicsome as he is. Mama lost four babies before Tristan came along so she tended to spoil him.”

      Clint tucked his gun back in its holster. “Being a gunslinger isn’t an easy job. Your brother would be better off tending to the pigs.”

      Three more shots rang out. “I know,” she admitted. “I’ve told him that, many times. But he’s stubborn. Won’t listen to a thing I have to say. Besides, that too, is partly my fault. Ever since I mentioned hiring a gunslinger, he’s decided to become one.”

      Eyeing her from head to toe, Clint asked, “You two live out here by yourselves?”

      “No. I told you I have three hired hands. And Jeb’s married to Sarah. They live in that cabin next to the bunkhouse.” She’d already told him more than she normally would, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop now. “Sarah’s getting up in age, too. Pushing sixty. That’s part of the reason I thought about hiring someone else, a sentry of sorts. I have too many people to keep safe, besides the hogs.”

      “You run this place?”

      Doreena frowned. Her instincts had said he was different. “Of course I run this place. Didn’t you believe me before? I already told you, I have for years.” A touch of sadness had her gaze going to the grove of trees on the hill to the west. “Even before Pa died. He just wasn’t the same after Mama passed on. I guess I should be thankful he only lived a couple of years without her.”

      She knew the moment he recognized the markers on the hill as headstones. His gaze returned to her. “Years? How old are you?” he asked.

      “I’m twenty-four. Why? How old are you?”

      “Well, I’m twenty-six.”

      She could swear his cheeks, beneath a thin layer of whiskers, were tinged pink. Doreena shook her head, trying to get rid of thoughts about just how handsome this stranger was. She didn’t have time for such notions, nor did she have time to waste on someone who thought she—a woman—couldn’t handle running the ranch. “Good for you,” she said, turning for the barn. “I gotta get a ring in that pig’s nose before he digs out again.”

      Clint fell in step beside her.

      She eyed him warily.

      “I’ll help,” he muttered.

      She shrugged. “Suit yourself. You ever pierced a pig before?”

      “Nope,” he said. “But I’d never been treed by one before, either. This must be my day of firsts.”

      The humor and easiness of his voice had her relaxing and smiling again. Maybe her first instincts about him were right. It was impossible to tell with her insides jumping about. “I’ll teach you. It’s not hard, but it’s not pleasant, either.”

      The task was done in no time, and Clint proved to be an apt learner. Doreena wiped her hands with the skirt of her work dress and then pointed toward the far side of the bunkhouse. “You can get cleaned up over there. Supper’ll be done in an hour. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll square up with you for helping.”

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