Outlaw's Bride Read Online Free Page B

his horse lunged forward. He let the animal have his head, turning for a final glance at the girl, who stood, hands on her hips, in the middle of the road.
    “You can’t just leave me here!” she wailed, stomping her foot. She hopped up and down, stomping and yelling.
    Whipping his horse, Johnny flew down a ravine. The sorrel’s hooves pounded the brush, and then slid on loose rock. The posse was on his heels now.

Chapter Five

    G rimacing, Johnny snapped back to the present. He turned, his eyes roaming the small bedroom. Time and love had gone into the furnishings. He touched the spread pattern, running his rough fingertips along the intricate stitching.
    Grandma had made quilts. On summer evenings she sat on the front porch, a basket of outgrown clothing by her side. She cut and sewed for hours, patiently explaining the history behind each scrap of fabric, weaving stories and spinning tales as she sewed. Assuring him that God loved him and that he’d always look after him. Right.
    Little Elly loved the pink remnant of her baby blanket, and Lara always pointed a chubby, dimpled finger at the flower print of Ma’s work dress. Winters, Grandma sat by the fireplace, her needle flashing as she tackled her piecework with a vengeance. That seemed a lifetime ago. He turned from the window.
    He moved to the side of the bed and sat down, careful not to muss anything. Sitting up straighter, he bounced once, testing the old mattress. It had been a long time since he’d slept in a real bed. Months—maybe a year.
    He lifted a pillow and smelled soap, sunshine, and fresh air, a far cry from his sleeping bag. Arranging the feather tick carefully back in place, he glanced around him. Now what? Instead of searching for Dirk Bledso, he was stuck in a blue-flowered prison with a quilt made fromscraps of a shirt an old man wore fifty years ago. He could walk away. He’d thought of nothing more for the past week, but in the end he’d be a fool. He’d serve his time, and then he would resume his search. Grandma was right. God had sure looked after Bledso. He had given him another year or two to live.
    A light tap sounded at the door, and he waited. A few seconds later the knock sounded again, followed by a woman’s voice. “I have your water.”
    She was stubborn. He’d told her he’d get it himself. It had been a long time since he’d had a pitcher of water in his bedroom. It had been a long time since he’d had a bedroom. “Leave it in the hall.”
    The bowl clanked as she set it down. “Mr. McAllister?”
    “Yes?”
    “I cannot overemphasize how the judge likes his meals on time. Supper is at five.” Johnny glanced at the clock over the bedstead. It was ten of five.
    When he didn’t answer, she rapped soundly. “Did you hear me?” “
    I heard. I’m not hungry.” Or deaf.
    “Are you coming?” “
    Pretty soon.”
    He wasn’t about to sit at a stranger’s table and make polite conversation. He had nothing to say. Nothing these folks cared to hear.
    Her tone firmed on the other side of the door. “Judge McMann hates cold food. Unpack your clothes. Supper won’t be on the table for another few minutes.” Her footsteps sounded as she went back downstairs.
    Johnny rolled off the bed and walked to the dresser. How long would it take to unpack an extra pair of pants, a shirt, and a change of long johns? There were three large drawers in the chest. One for pants, one for shirts, and one for underwear. He found an extra blanket in the bottom drawer. He’d need an extra blanket in this desert town about as much as he needed that woman firing orders at him.
    Stretching, he moved to the north window. Leaning out the sill, he watched the lazy activity below. Not much stirring this time of day.
    Scents drifted up the stairway, and he turned and stared at the closed door. Something smelled mighty good. His stomach growled. Maybe he would go down to supper. No, he was a prisoner. Weren’t they supposed to bring his meals to