The Outlaw's Redemption. Renee Ryan

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      Hips swaying, her face overly painted, Mattie stopped her approach inches shy of running into Hunter, close enough for him to get a whiff of her cloying perfume.

      “Hunter, darling.” She struck a final, dramatic pose—one hand on her hip, glass poised at shoulder-level, eyes lowered to half-mast. “What a surprise.”

      “A pleasant one, I hope.”

      “Time will tell.” She angled her head to the side. “Greet me properly, you rogue, and maybe I won’t hold your impertinence against you.”

      “But of course.” He leaned down and touched his lips to the plumped, curved cheek she offered. “Hello, Mattie.”

      “Hunter.” She pulled back and studied him with narrow-eyed precision. “Now. Let me look at you.”

      Having been through this routine before, he stood completely still, eyes cast forward. Her gaze traveled from the top of his head, down to his toes and back up again.

      “The years have been kind to you,” she decided, then reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw. “It’s really unfair, you know, that you should look this handsome when you are so decidedly in need of a shave.”

      Without waiting for a response, she continued her scrutiny, seemingly oblivious to his tense shoulders and stiff smile. He worked to contain his need to speed things along. This was Mattie Silks, after all. The woman had her own set of rules. If he wanted answers, he had to play her game. For now.

      “If memory serves,” he said in a low, confidential tone, “you like your men a little scruffy.”

      “Oh, I do.” She circled around to his other side and plucked at his sleeve. “I really, really, really do.”

      Hunter watched the madam out of the corner of his eye. “You’re as pretty as ever, Mattie. I must say, you don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”

      She laughed in delight, then leaned in closer, her hand clutching at his arm. “You always were a silver-tongued brute. Is it any wonder I like you better than that holier-than-thou brother of yours?”

      Of course she liked Hunter better than Logan. Hunter had spent most of his adult years on the wrong side of the law. While his brother was a former U.S. marshal, a man bent on seeking justice by legal means only. Hunter had no such compunction, as evidenced by his two-year stint in prison. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

      “Tell me, Hunter, my dear boy—”

      “Boy?” He gave a humorless laugh. He hadn’t been a boy for a very long time.

      Grinning at his reaction, Mattie walked her fingertips up his arm, squeezed his biceps. He swallowed his distaste. All part of the ritual, he reminded himself.

      “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine evening? Dare I hope you’ve returned to your old ways?” She looked him over yet again, this time with obvious intent in her heavy-lidded gaze. “Shall I order you a bath, a shave, a friendly chat with one of my girls?”

      Hunter stiffened. Enough. “You know why I’ve come.”

      “Yes, well.” She dropped her hand and sighed in disappointment. “A girl can always hope a big, handsome man such as yourself hasn’t turned completely good.”

      Games. The woman couldn’t help playing her games. “Let’s not forget you summoned me, with quite a convoluted tale.”

      Her chin jutted out. “Not a tale. The truth.”

      “So you claim.”

      Breaking eye contact, Mattie tracked her gaze through the room. As if she’d only just become aware of the interested stares, her entire demeanor changed. The tiny lines of worry around her mouth were impossible to miss. Interesting.

      “Perhaps we should continue our conversation in private.”

      Unexpected. And yet, he realized, greatly appreciated. “A sensible suggestion.”

      “Follow me.”

      Spine stiff, head high, she led him through the main parlor toward the back of the brothel. Hunter knew the way, for all the wrong reasons. He kept his eyes on Mattie and his senses trained on the activity around him. The air of forced revelry was palpable, depressing. Sounds and bodies moved past him in a whirl, sometimes brushing against him, sometimes steering clear. Some of the patrons knew him, a few too many feared him.

      He’d once cultivated that reaction. Now he wondered if his past would ever be forgotten.

      He sighed.

      In uncharacteristic silence, Mattie bypassed the kitchen and directed Hunter down a darkened corridor that ran along the southern perimeter of the first floor. A few more twists and turns, then, at last, she stopped in front of a nondescript door and indicated he take the lead.

      Reaching around her, he opened the door then stepped inside the room. He had to blink furiously to accustom his eyes to the burst of light. Memories of the last time he’d been in this room warred with his attempt to remain outwardly calm.

      The decor was different in here, at complete odds with the rest of the brothel. Homier, full of plush, comfortable furniture and a pleasant, floral scent.

      Mattie had redecorated in the past two years.

      With leaden feet, Hunter made his way to the mantelpiece on his right. Despite his efforts to stay in the present, his vision tunneled down for an alarming moment where all he could see was the past.

      Gritting his teeth, he dug his toe in a small groove along the edge of the stone hearth. Just over two years ago he’d faced off with Cole Kincaid on this very spot, at nearly this exact hour of the night. Cole had proved soulless and without mercy, even in that final showdown. Ultimately, Hunter had prevailed in the ensuing struggle.

      At the cost of his freedom.

      He had no remorse. Cole had deserved to die after he’d murdered Hunter’s beloved Jane in cold blood. She’d been so young, so full of God’s goodness. Knowing her had made him a better man.

      Losing her had nearly destroyed him.

      An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

      He couldn’t change the past. But could he start anew? Could he become the man Jane had thought him to be, a man worthy of raising a child?

      Not a child, he reminded himself. His child.

      Maybe.

      If Mattie was to be believed, Hunter had a nine-year-old daughter as a result of his brief first marriage to Maria Bradley. Their union had been a disastrous, impetuous mistake on both their parts. But where Hunter had been utterly captivated and painfully naive, barely two weeks off the ranch, Maria had been three years into her profession as a prostitute and had married him for the thrill of corrupting an innocent.

      She’d succeeded beyond her wildest expectations.

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