Karen Kirst - The Reluctant Outlaw

Watching him now, she had to admit that under ordinary circumstances she would be curious about him. He was one of those men who commanded attention based on his calm self-assurance, the unleashed power in his muscular form and his dark, forbidding good looks. He was like no other man she’d ever known.

He looked up then from the cast-iron skillet and caught her staring.

“Good morning,” he said matter-of-factly, as if they were old acquaintances.

He loaded up two trenchers with the pork and hoecakes. He rose in one fluid movement and approached her with long strides. Crouching beside her, he offered her one. “Can you eat something?”

His nearness intensified the queasiness in her stomach. Still, they’d skipped supper last night. “I’ll try.”

Juliana sat up, self-conscious about her disheveled appearance. When he didn’t move away, she lifted her head. She read the displeasure in his expression.

“What?”

“Your cheek,” he stated darkly. “It looks pretty bad. Is the pain worse this morning?”

Was that remorse in his voice? Surely he hadn’t developed a conscience overnight.

“Not very.” She wasn’t being exactly truthful, but she wasn’t about to admit to him the pain she was in. What was the point?

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want.” She shrugged, lifting her trencher of untouched food. “Can we please eat now?”

“Be my guest.” He hesitated a moment before turning to his own breakfast.

Stubble darkened his jaw, and his eyes were bloodshot. Had he not slept? She quelled the urge to ask. What did she care whether he’d slept or not?

They ate in silence. Juliana nibbled at the slightly sweet hoecake, thankful that her stomach didn’t protest. One taste of the salty meat was one too many, however, and she tossed it back on the plate. Gulping down coffee to rid herself of the aftertaste, she grimaced. She didn’t like black coffee. Her mom had made sure to always have cream and sugar on the table for Juliana, the only one of her five daughters who drank coffee.

“Is something wrong?” he asked midchew.

“I’m not used to the strong stuff.”

He swallowed. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Considering I’ll be home in a few hours, I doubt it matters.”

He didn’t meet her eyes as he stood to his feet. “I’m going to rinse these off,” he said, gathering the dirty utensils. “If you’re done eating, you can come with me. You’ll have a chance to wash up if you’d like.”

What a difference a day makes, she thought. She supposed he felt guilty for what had happened and that was the reason he was acting kind. Rising to her feet, she tried in vain to smooth her wrinkled dress. “I don’t suppose you have a brush in those saddlebags, do you?”

“There’s a comb.” He rifled through the leather bags and produced a simple black comb. “Will this do?” he asked, his eyes raking her mass of auburn hair.

Her cheeks warmed at his inspection. “Yes.”

Falling into step beside him, she ventured a side glance. “How long have you been living like this? I mean … have you always been a thief?”

One black brow quirked up. “Yeah, it all started when I was three. I just had to have that lemon drop at the mercantile, so I swiped it.”

“Ah, a sense of humor. I’m surprised, Harrison.”

“Harrison is my last name. Call me Evan.”

“Oh. Okay … Evan.”

Her gaze drifted down to where the top two buttons of his cotton shirt were undone. His tanned neck shone with a fine film of perspiration, his steady pulse visible in the hollows above his collarbone.

Juliana wondered at her absence of fear in his presence. His close proximity made her feel unsettled, even nervous. But she didn’t believe he would harm her.

“And your name is …” he prompted. His blue eyes, so distinctive and intense, were fastened onto her face in open scrutiny. His dark hair and clothes only made his eyes seem brighter.

“I don’t believe I’ll tell you, Evan Harrison.”

“Why not?” his brow furrowed. “ Miss O’Malley is a bit formal, don’t you think?”

“Why should I? You and I will never again clap eyes on each other after today.”

Bone-weary from passing the night drifting in and out of sleep, Evan was in no mood to argue. So he clamped his mouth shut and continued down the path.

Contrary woman! He could only imagine how she was going to react when he told her the bad news—that she wasn’t going home today or any day soon. His mind was made up, though. She could get angry, cry or throw a fit. Didn’t matter. She would not sway his decision.

Leaving the cool shade behind, he stepped out into the bright sunshine. A wide ribbon of shimmering green meandered through the clearing, the sound of rushing water filling his ears. While not deep enough to bathe in, the stream was adequate for a quick wash.

He glanced back at Miss O’Malley, his eyes drawn to her sleek red hair glinting in the sun. Then he caught sight of her discolored cheek and winced.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his bandanna. He rinsed the black material in the cool water, wrung out the excess and folded it in a neat square.

He went to stand before her and, lifting the compress, lightly placed it against her cheek. For a moment she didn’t blink. He lost himself in her impossibly green eyes. There was a flash of apprehension which she quickly masked. That he’d caused her unease made him feel ill. He pressed the compress into her hand and stepped back abruptly. Of course she would be wary of him. He was her kidnapper, after all.

“Keep that on for a few minutes,” he murmured. “It probably won’t help much with the swelling, but the cold will feel good. As soon as we get washed up, I’ll make you a poultice.”

His concern for her, a stranger whose name he hadn’t bothered to ask until a minute ago, was a foreign emotion. He’d been consumed with his own needs for so long—his desire for revenge and his well-thought-out plans to get it.

Evan felt ashamed. Selfish. Hard-hearted. Almost like an entirely different person than he’d been before his brother’s murder. His cousin certainly had tried to convince him to let the authorities handle it, had warned Evan of the hazards of settling old scores.

The faith he’d grown up with and cultivated as an adult—the same faith he’d considered the foundation of his existence—had splintered beneath him in the space of a day. He’d fallen into an abyss of suspicion and inner turmoil.

“How long will it take to get back to town?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Evan weighed his words carefully. “We’re not going to Gatlinburg. I’ve decided it’s too risky to take you back there. For now, anyway.”

“I don’t understand.” Although her voice remained calm, he sensed the brewing storm.

“I’d planned to take you straight home to your family, but since the men know about you … we can’t risk it. I figure the safest spot for you right now is my place—”

The hand holding the compress against her cheek went limp, and she looked at him in horror. “ Your place? The home of a thief and kidnapper? No! I am not sleeping one night under your roof!”

Goodness, but she was stunning when riled up. A faint blush stained her cheeks, her pink mouth puckered in disapproval and graceful hands propped on her slim hips. She looked eager for a fight.

“You’ll be safe there. That’s what matters.”

“Safe?” Her expression turned disbelieving. “With the man who held a gun on me, forced me from my family and is currently planning to whisk me away to parts unknown?”