Renegade Bride Read Online Free Page B

slid to the clerk. "What?"
    "You're that fellow who gunned down that half-breed up on the levee." A knowing smile brightened the clerk's face. "The whole town's talkin' about it. They say you hit that injun square between the eyes. That true?"
    "Forget it," Creed recommended, turning his attention back to the street.
    "Forget it?" The man chuckled. "Hell, we ain't had so much excitement since they hung Red Yager and George Brown here last January."
    "I said leave it alone."
    "Not that I have anything against gettin' rid of them redskins," the man prattled on. "Mangy bunch of heathens. But just between you an' me, what'd that feller do to get you so riled?"
    Creed shook his head, then leaned closer to the window and gave the clerk a menacing look. He kept his voice low and conspiratorial. "You really want to know?"
    Wide-eyed, the balding man nodded.
    Creed's lips were almost touching the iron bars on the clerk's cage. "I killed him 'cause he was too damned nosey."
    The clerk's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat and his spectacles slipped to the tip of his nose. He pushed them back in place with one shaking finger and forced his attention back to the sheaf of papers on his desk.
    "Mister Devereaux?"
    Creed turned to find Mariah standing beside him on the boardwalk, mud-free and dressed in a fresh, pale blue gown with a white lace collar and cuffs. A delicate white shawl circled her shoulders and fell softly over her shapely breasts, contrasting sharply with her flushed cheeks. One slender eyebrow was arched in annoyance.
    She looked like a schoolmarm or a minister's daughter, he mused darkly. Just Seth's type. Behind her like the rear guard stood Maeve and Jamie O'Hurlehy—arms linked.
    Creed pushed away from the wall. "It's about time."
    Mariah's whiskey-eyes flashed and her lips parted as if she were about to retort. Instead she snapped her teeth together and glared at him. A sudden breeze tugged at a strand of her hair, whipping it across her face.
    Creed nodded toward the stage. "They're nearly loaded."
    "I changed as quickly as I could," Mariah told him, noting that he, too, had changed out of his muddy clothes. He'd traded his bloody buckskin for a clean maroon wool shirt with two ties lacing the deep slash at the neck. It made his eyes look suddenly greener, she thought warily, and his face seem less—
    "Give me your bag," he demanded gruffly, erasing any gentle quality she'd been about to ascribe to him.
    Mariah tightened her grip. Inside was not only the meat and cheese she'd brought to nibble on, but her needlework. Tatting was a skill she'd acquired during long days and nights spent sitting beside her dying grandmother. A sharp pang of nostalgia passed through her. Now, the needlework merely occupied her empty hands and kept her mind distracted from thoughts of Seth. What would she do if she lost him, too, she wondered miserably.
    "I'll keep the bag with me."
    "Not with nine passengers and express packages crammed inside that mud-wagon, you won't. There'll be barely enough room for you." This time he didn't touch her, but waited for her to hand over the small bag.
    Stubbornly, she refused. "But my needlework—"
    Devereaux's eyes met hers with a hard look. "You've a long ride ahead, Miss Parsons. Enjoy the scenery, but if you're expecting a Sunday social, you're bound to be-disappointed. By the time you reach Virginia City, you'll never want to see the inside of one of A.J. Oliver's stagecoaches again."
    She released the tapestry bag in a huff, and angrily tipped her chin up. "I was hardly expecting a social, Mister Devereaux. I'm well aware of the rigors of travel, having just completed a considerable journey from Chicago, if you'll recall. You needn't try to frighten me."
    "You won't need me for that, Miss Parsons," he replied ominously. "Best get your goodbyes said." Without another word, he turned and stepped off the walkway to hand her bag to the driver, who was lashing the leather covering of the boot