Abbie's Outlaw. Victoria Bylin

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      He’d found her sitting in the dirt with a twisted ankle, leaning against a broken wagon wheel and aiming a pistol at his kneecaps from beneath the buckboard.

      “Put your hands over your head and stand where I can see you,” she had ordered.

      With a devilish grin, John had complied, then he’d raked her body with his eyes one glorious inch at a time.

      As the memory of that day hit hard and fast, Judas-down-there began to stir, demanding to know if Abbie’s lips were still as soft as the rest of her. A trickle of sweat ran down John’s back, soaking the white shirt he wore beneath his preacher’s coat. A man couldn’t help his bodily reactions, but he had a choice about what came out of his mouth. Trying to lighten the mood, he fell back on the words he often used when old friends discovered that Johnny Leaf, hot-shot shootist and ladies’ man, had turned into the good Reverend John Leaf.

      With a wry smile, he said, “Don’t let the collar fool you. I’m as low-down as ever.”

      “Somehow I doubt that.” As her eyes softened with the caring he remembered from Kansas, she raised her hand as if she wanted to touch him, perhaps to make sure he was real. John avoided her hand with a shrug, but their gazes stayed locked and held tight.

      Before he could figure out what to say, a delicate cough called his attention to Emma. He had hoped to keep his meeting with Abbie private, but Emma’s presence ensured the entire town would know the details by nightfall.

      Nodding in Abbie’s direction, he made the introductions. “Emma, this is Abigail Windsor. She’s visiting from Washington. You’ve already met her son.”

      Emma’s eyebrows arched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Windsor.”

      “The pleasure is mine,” Abbie replied with a warm smile. “Please, call me Abigail.”

      Emma had an annoying habit of fluttering her eyelashes and she did it now, looking straight at John. “Mother and I would love to have you all for supper.” Turning to Abbie, she asked, “How long will you be here?”

      John was curious as well.

      “Just a few weeks.” With a dip of her chin, Abbie indicated her mourning clothes. “The Reverend and I have an issue to settle concerning my husband’s estate, and then my son and I will be going home.”

      “Maybe we could plan for Sunday?” Emma said.

      Or maybe next year, John thought, after Emma had found a husband. Shaking his head, he said, “Thanks, but I doubt Abbie is ready to socialize.”

      When Abbie gave a demure smile, Emma excused herself, leaving John and Abbie alone in the crowd. They were both dressed in black and seemed cold to each other, but John wasn’t fooled. The coals in his kitchen stove had looked dead this morning, but they were banked and smoldering on the inside. If he poked them, they would flare to life. John couldn’t stop himself from remembering that he and Abbie had started a fire in Kansas. All sorts of things had burned between them, including the bed sheets.

      Damn, he needed a smoke. But first he had to get Abbie and her son settled at the Midas Hotel. He was about to suggest they retrieve her baggage when she glanced at Robbie who was watching steam billow from the locomotive. It rose in clouds that dissipated to nothing, a reminder that fires burned themselves out.

      Seeing that her son was distracted, she turned to John. “Do you know why I’m here?”

      “Not exactly.” Keeping his voice level, he stuck to the facts. “Your daughter wrote to me at an old address in Wyoming. A friend forwarded the letter.”

      Abbie blinked to hold back tears. At the same time, she squared her shoulders. “Susanna ran away from home. I know from her best friend that she’s looking for you, but the train ticket she bought went only as far as St. Louis. The detective I hired said you lived in Midas, but he didn’t tell me anything else. I was hoping she’d already arrived.”

      John’s blood turned to ice. “Judging by the letter, she thinks I’m in Bitterroot. It’s a hellhole.”

      “Dear God,” Abbie gasped. “That must be where she went.”

      The terror in her eyes sent a knife through his gut. Needing to offer comfort but afraid to touch her, he jammed his hands into his pockets and looked for a shred of hope. “Who’s she traveling with?”

      “No one,” Abbie said in a shaking voice. “I’m scared to death for her.”

      John knew how she felt, not because he’d ever been a parent, but because he’d been on the wrong side of the law. Not all men were honorable and neither were all women. “I’ll do everything I can to help,” he said.

      Surprised by the depth of his worry, John sucked in a lungful of air and ended up with train exhaust coating his throat. Abbie’s gaze locked on his face. She had a way of willing people to feel things and John had that sensation now. Was she hoping he’d want to be a father to the girl? God, he hoped not.

      Or maybe she’d assume he’d want to hide his sinful past. Given his calling, that guess was reasonable but miles from the truth. The whole town knew he’d lived on the wrong side of the law. He’d done time in the Wyoming Territorial Prison in Laramie for his part in the Bitterroot range war, and he was still roundly hated, especially by Ben Gantry. As for thieving, whoring, gambling, drinking and other manly what-not, well, what could he say? A long time ago he’d done it all—to the best of his ability and as often as possible.

      Those days were long past, but they had left habits he couldn’t change. He still had an edgy need to see around corners and through walls. It was as much a part of him as a hungry stomach, and he had that need now. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I have to know, Abbie. Is she mine?”

      Her eyes turned into gentle pools. “Does it matter?”

      “No,” he replied. “I’ll help you no matter what. I just thought I should ask. If I have an obligation—”

      “You don’t,” she said firmly.

      John knew a half-truth when he heard one. She hadn’t denied his blood ties to the girl, only his responsibility for raising her. He wasn’t inclined to let lies fester, but he wanted to believe what Abbie had implied. As the circumstances stood, Susanna was the daughter of a congressman, not the bastard child of an outlaw. For Susanna’s sake and his own peace of mind, he decided not to push the issue right now.

      “It’s best for everyone that she’s not mine,” John said. “I’ll send a wire to a friend in Bitterroot. In the meantime, let’s collect your baggage and get you settled at the hotel.”

      He lifted the carpetbag from her hand. The suitcase wasn’t heavy, a detail that surprised him considering the length of her journey, but Abbie grimaced as the weight left her grasp. Trying to appear casual, she rubbed her shoulder.

      John knew about old injuries. He’d gotten tossed off a mustang and twisted his knee. It still pained him in cold weather. “Are you all right?”

      She dropped her arm to her side as if he’d caught her stealing. “Of course. I’m just stiff from the trip.”

      Maybe СКАЧАТЬ