Angel Gone Bad (8 page)

R
une stood in the alley, leaning against the back wall of Harris Mercantile. Several discarded bottles in shades of blue and green poked out of the packed dirt alongside scraggly yellow dandelions.

He had pulled his hat low to conceal his face, but he remained on high alert. He reeked of tobacco, whiskey, and sweat, none of it his own. He'd traded his brocade vest to an old codger for a stained and tattered one. He'd also traded him a good John B. for a broken down, dirt-brown cowboy hat. Best he could do on short notice to change his appearance. It wouldn't be enough if anybody looked close, but he counted on keeping his distance.

Rune didn't know for sure that Marshal Phillips had recognized him, or been suspicious of Angel, but he had seen too many deputies around town for comfort. He wouldn't take a chance.

Comfort for Angel was gone. If they went to the train station, they'd be sitting ducks. He had rented two geldings. They were waiting at a livery stable several doors down, saddled and ready to go. Now all he had to do was get her, get there, and get out of town.

He could hear Angel reading through the back door left open to create a breeze through the store. He'd liked her better as a plucky schoolmarm. She'd changed from innocent and fun loving to vain and mirror gazing, what with her dime novel, fancy clothes, and speechifying. Too bad the changes hadn't done a thing to cool his lust.

If she didn't hurry up, he was about ready to go in there and throw her over his shoulder again.

As he waited, he heard glass break farther down the alley, as if somebody had stepped on a bottle. He didn't look. He simply stepped to the side and melted back into the dimness of the store and silently closed the door behind him. He heard footsteps grow closer, then stop outside. He held his breath. A moment later, footsteps moved on down the alley.

That could've been a deputy searching Paris or a cowboy taking a shortcut across town. No way to know. Rune stayed one step ahead of the law by anticipating trouble, not reacting to it.

He glanced around the storeroom, boxes stacked here and there. A curtained doorway led into the store. He could hear Angel's audience finally breaking up and leaving on the other side. He noticed a curtained alcove in case he needed a place to hide. As he looked at what must be a changing room, he heard the curtain to the store swish open.

“Oh my goodness, you must be Angelica's Viking. Did you get tired of waiting?”

Rune whirled around. A trim, dark-haired woman in a blue gingham dress stood just inside the storeroom.

“I'm Mrs. Kay Harris, owner of Harris Mercantile.” She smiled, dark eyes sparkling, as she closed the curtain behind her. “I heard about your appearance in Dennison, but I never dreamed I'd get to meet you in person.”

“Howdy.” He stood on the balls of his feet, poised for fight or flight till he knew what to expect from this stranger.

She put a hand to her heart. “Angelica really is writing from true life, isn't she?”

“Yes, ma'am, she is.” He smiled, judging she wasn't a danger, and politely took off his hat. “Right now, we could sure use your help.”

“My help?” She stepped closer. “Anything. Angelica is wonderful. I sold so many copies of her book today that now I'll be selling lots of dime novels by other authors.”

“Glad to hear it.” He hesitated, seeing an opportunity and quickly making up a story. “There's an unwanted male admirer hanging around that she'd like to avoid.”

“Has he made improper advances?”

Rune looked away, shaking his head. “I'd rather not say.”

“Certainly not!”

“I'd like to buy her a different outfit, something that changes her looks and would be good for riding a horse. I couldn't get a sidesaddle.”

“Western women are independent. They do not always subscribe to social constrictions such as sidesaddles. They're bad for women and bad for horses. I have just the thing. A split-skirt and matching blouse. Hat. Scarf.” She looked him over. “Maybe something for you, too?”

“Sorry about the smell. I had to trade my hat and vest to alter my appearance. Didn't want to lead that guy to Angelica.”

“Perfectly understandable. I suggest something new and neutral.”

He nodded, feeling pleased this one thing was going easy.

“Mrs. Harris?” Angel called, pushing aside the curtain. She looked at Rune in surprise. “What are you doing in here?”

“He very wisely asked for my help. Naturally my lips are sealed. Trust me to do what needs to be done.”

Angel looked in confusion from one to the other.

Mrs. Harris gestured for Angel to come closer. “Please wait here while I select some clothes. No one will be the wiser.” She stepped out, closing the curtain behind her.

“Rune, what's going on?” Angel moved closer, searching his face. “Are we in trouble?”

“Deputies are all over the place. Could mean nothing, but—”

“You think it does.”

“I don't want to take a chance. Figured we ought to change our appearance and get out of town fast.” He looked her over. “A buggy's too slow, so I rented horses. I couldn't get a sidesaddle, but you rode astride in Indian Territory.”

“What about the train?”

“Marshal Phillips most likely will have somebody watching the depot.”

“Are you planning to cross into Indian Territory? It's not too far from here.”

“No. We've got to get back to the Bend and meet up with the V Gang.”

“Guess there's no choice.” Angel took a deep breath. “But what did you tell Mrs. Harris to get her so involved with our situation?”

He grinned, blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Here we are!” Mrs. Harris snapped back the curtain and hurried into the storeroom, arms full of clothes. “I believe I selected the right size. I'll just put these in the changing room. While you transform yourself, I'll go set up a lovely display of
Sweet Rescue in the Indian Territory
.” She winked conspiratorially and then bustled out of sight.

“What is going on?” Angel asked again.

“Later.”

She pulled back the curtain to the changing alcove. “I'm not wearing my corset on such a long, hot ride.”

“No complaints from me.”

“I'll need your help.”

“Even better.”

She sniffed. “Where did you get that hat and vest?”

“Made a trade.” Rune shucked off the vest and tossed it along with the hat into a corner. “I'm getting better replacements.”

“Wouldn't take much.” She slipped into the alcove and closed the curtain behind her.

Rune had waited a long time to get Angel out of her clothes. He listened to the rustle of fabric and let his mind wander over the possibilities. He knew he should keep his thoughts on the danger at hand, but a naked Angel trumped aces.

“Rune, come here.”

He opened the curtain, entered the small area, and closed the curtain behind him. She wore white, and the dim light created shadows in all the right places. She also wore too much, what with the corset and long petticoats, but her shoulders and the slopes of her breasts were bare. The scent of lavender rose from her heated flesh. Without conscious thought, he reached for her.

She turned, presenting her back. “If you'll unhook the clasps, I'll be out of this corset fast.”

But he couldn't resist touching her. He settled his hands on her shoulders and slid down the length of her arms. She felt soft, warm, and inviting. He spanned her small waist with his large hands, fingertips to fingertips.

“Perfect,” he said, stirring her hair with his breath.

She sighed softly, leaning against his chest. “The hooks are in back.”

He placed a kiss on her shoulder, stroking her soft skin with the tip of his tongue. She shivered at his touch. Made him want her all the more. He felt hot desire sweep through him, leaving him hard enough to plow her furrow till she begged for more.

“How are you doing in there?” Mrs. Harris called from outside the curtain.

Rune silently cursed the interruption, but kept holding Angel close.

“I'm leaving a hat and vest out here. Call if you need me.”

“Thanks.” He barely got the word out.

When they were alone again, he trailed kisses across Angel's shoulders, savoring her like a starving man. He heard her take a ragged breath, and then stiffen in his arms.

“Rune, we must hurry and—”

“Wouldn't take long.” He nipped her ear lobe, gently setting his teeth to her soft, sensitive skin.

She shivered again. “I'm serious.”

He reluctantly let her go, taking a deep breath. What was he thinking, or not thinking? He quickly unhooked the back of her corset. He might be a fool about Angel, but he wasn't a total fool.

He left the changing room and found what Mrs. Harris had left him. He pulled on a brown vest and settled a straw Stetson on his head. “I'll go pay Mrs. Harris and be right back.”

In the store, Mrs. Harris was setting up a display of books. She smiled up at him, eyes glinting with suppressed excitement.

He placed two gold Eagles on the counter. “Let me get some beef jerky and crackers for the trail. Extra ammunition, too.”

She selected his items and set them on the counter. “Anything else?”

“Two canteens.”

“I'll fill them with water for you.”

While she did that, he looked around. “Nice store you've got here.”

“Thank you. My husband started it, but I'm a widow now.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. It's been a few years. Not easy ones, mind you. Still I've made a go of it.”

“Looks like you've done more than that.”

She set the canteens on the counter. “I appreciate your kind words. If I can be of more help to you or Angelica, please let me know.”

“I will.”

“And I do hope you'll both come back for her next book.”

“Don't know about me, but I bet she'll be here with bells on.”

Mrs. Harris cocked her head, giving him a considering look. “I won't be a bit surprised to see you here with her.”

“Appreciate your help.” He started to say something he'd probably regret when he heard the bell on the front door jingle. He looked in that direction.

A tall man with a marshal badge on his vest stepped inside the open door, blinking as he adjusted from bright sunlight to dim interior.

Rune grabbed his merchandise and ducked behind the counter, cursing his bad luck.

W
hen Rune slipped into the storeroom and put a fingertip to his lips, Angel knew it couldn't be good.

She froze, gazing toward the front of the store, even though she couldn't see through the curtain, and listening for any untoward sounds.

“Deputy is here,” Rune said.

She felt a frisson of fear. “Is he looking for us?”

“Didn't wait to find out.” He handed her a canteen. “Ready to go?” She nodded, thinking fast. She had already put on her new, comfortable traveling clothes, knowing her button boots would work fine on horseback. The beige cowboy hat Mrs. Harris had selected fit, too. She'd rolled her dress, hat, and wig inside her black shawl to tie on the back of a saddle.

“Glad you thought to get some food.” She kept her voice low. “I can tuck it in with my clothes.”

He handed over the packet of food and box of ammunition, and then opened the back door. “Let's go.”

She bundled everything together and picked up her reticule before she stepped out ahead of him. She glanced in both directions, didn't see anybody, and gave a sigh of relief.

He quietly shut the door, took hold of her arm, and started down the alley, moving at a quick clip.

When they reached the back of the livery stable, he stopped and looked around. “Stay here. I'll get the horses and come back for you.”

She watched him walk away, long legs eating up the ground fast. He looked like trouble, a big, powerful, menacing presence. Perhaps only she knew about his gentle, tender, caring side, if it still existed somewhere deep inside him. If it did, she wanted to coax it free. She shivered at the memory of his touch, his kisses, his heat. Even knowing the danger to her heart, she craved him, ached for him, burned for him. She still felt hot and wet and tender.

As if he materialized from her thoughts, Angel saw him leading two horses toward her. If ever a man was hero material, Rune fit the image in spades. Maybe she'd been thinking about him in the wrong way, resisting when she should have been succumbing, pushing away when she should have been pulling in, taking when she should have been giving.

Sweet Rescue in the Indian Territory
was only her first dime novel. Now, readers wanted more stories based on her real-life experiences. She wanted to write them, but she didn't have any more exciting stories, not like she did for the first book. When she'd been kidnapped off the train in Indian Territory by outlaws and rescued by Rune, she'd opened herself up to his wild and wonderful world without a thought to the danger. After he'd broken her heart and she'd broken his life, she'd refused to allow any possible pain to ever reach her again.

Now she saw that in protecting her emotions, she'd closed off a vital part of herself, the part that Rune was opening up again. Was that good or bad? Could she have the courage to take life in both hands and fully experience what Rune had to offer? Could she live with more heartache? Or could she be heartless and live for the pleasure of the moment?

One thing for sure, if she threw caution to the wind, she had the opportunity to bring her personal experience of power and passion and danger in Texas and Indian Territory to readers through her novels.

“Angel!” Rune held out a horse's reins. “Are you woolgathering?”

She felt her thoughts spin away like a dropped deck of card as she took the reins from him.

“Let's go.”

She mounted the horse, knowing it was a long ride to the Bend, knowing her muscles were going to protest, knowing it'd be hot and dusty. Yet it'd be worth that trouble, and much more, if she could find Tate, give her readers a new story for their hard-earned money, and figure out something about Rune.

Angel adjusted to the hard saddle and the rhythm of her horse, a sorrel gelding with an easy stride and a sensitive mouth. She stayed close to Rune as they rode out of the alley. They joined the busy traffic, easing around wagons, horses, and pedestrians. She stayed alert, watching for lawmen. She saw one, but he was looking the other way. As they moved steadily toward the edge of town, she began to relax, hoping that their fears had been unfounded.

Rune abruptly turned off the main road into an alley. She had to hurry to catch up, glancing back over her shoulder. She saw nothing that would set off alarms, but it didn't mean that he hadn't seen something.

She rode up beside him. “Are we in trouble?”

“Looks okay so far. But it's best not to travel in a straight path.”

She nodded, knowing he made an outlaw's kind of sense.

As she followed his winding way out of Paris, they moved ever closer to the countryside and safety. Finally, when the hustle and bustle was left behind, he turned off the road and stopped.

“We're safe now?”

“No.” He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he pushed back his hat. “But we've got some breathing room.”

“Good.”

“You okay with your horse?”

“He's fine.”

Rune nodded, glancing over her. “If you get too tired or sore, let me know and we'll take a break. I know you're not used to being in the saddle all day.”

“I'll need a break, but I'd like to get past Honey Grove first.”

He looked toward the north. “Looks a little dark. Rain'd sure be welcome. Cool it down.”

“But we'd also get wet.”

He chuckled as he urged his horse back down the road. “Can't please you, can I?”

She caught up with him again. “You sure could if we caught the train in Dodd City.”

“I'd like nothing better, but best not to chance it.”

She didn't doubt his wisdom. She just didn't like it. She adjusted her weight in the saddle, wishing she could get more comfortable but knowing it'd get worse before it got better.

A little later, thunder rumbled in the distance, a breeze swept down from the north, bringing the scent of rain.

Rune raised a fist to the sky. “Hail Thor! Let the potato wagons roll!”

“What?”

“My Swedish grandfather always said the potato wagons were rolling when he heard thunder.”

“That makes a little sense. But Thor?”

“Norse legends of gods and goddesses. When Thor throws his hammer across the sky, he causes lightning and thunder.”

She chuckled. “Must be a mighty big hammer.”

“Sure is. It's called
Mjolnir,
the Crusher. Always comes back to him after he throws it.” Rune threw back his head, laughed, and then tossed her a challenging glance. “I've got a big hammer, too. Want to see it sometime?”

Laughing, she shook her head. “You're just funnin' me.”

“Not about
Mjolnir
. That's serious business.”

As she laughed even harder, the first drops of rain hit her hat. Lightning flashed in the north, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Her horse shied to the side, prancing in agitation. A wall of cool wind hit next, and she grabbed her hat to keep it from being swept away.

“Hail, Thor!” Rune raised his fist to the sky and shook it, laughing as rain pelted down upon him. “Thor is really cutting loose now. He's riding across the sky in his chariot pulled by his mighty horned goats.”

“Thor's goats?” Angel worked to keep her mount under control, but he was getting more agitated by the moment.

“Mountain goats with dangerous, curved horns.”

“Not milk goats then.”

He rolled his eyes, and then pointed up at the sky. “Tooth-gnasher and Toothgrinder are pulling hard.”

“I like their names.” She focused on her horse, easing back on the reins to keep him under control as the rain came down harder.

At the next flash of lightning nearby and a loud clap of thunder, Angel's horse threw up his head and took off running. She clamped down with her knees and grabbed the saddle horn with one hand while pulling back on the reins with the other, but she could barely stay in the saddle.

She heard Rune calling her name, but she couldn't spare him any thought. She had to stop the horse. Nothing else mattered as rain pounded her, driven by slanting wind with lightning crackling and thunder booming. She could well imagine Thor driving his chariot across the sky.

As the storm increased in fury, her horse ran harder, but she grew weaker. Soon she wouldn't be able to stay in the saddle. Already her muscles were shaking with effort. Now she wished she'd spent more time riding than at a desk reading and writing. She tried to look for a soft place to land, but she was blinded by the rain and darkness that had descended on them.

As she decided to jump rather than fall, a large shape loomed beside her. She glanced over. Rune was whipping his horse with his reins, forcing his mount up beside her. He hollered something at her, but his words were lost in the rain. What could he possibly do?

He rode in close, stirrup strafing stirrup. He leaned over, jerked the reins out of her hand, and wrapped them around the saddle horn. He put an arm around her waist, lifted her from the saddle, and used both arms to set her on his lap, staying in his own saddle with only his powerful leg muscles to hold him.

Once she was cradled against his chest, he reached out and retrieved the reins to her horse. He began getting the animal under control. Finally, both horses slowed until they were once more walking down the road, but still skittish from the storm.

Angel shivered against Rune, tired and scared. But more than anything she was mad as a wet setting hen.