Liz Ireland - Millie And The Fugitive

Her eyes were moving quickly across the page when suddenly she stopped, then looked back up, certain she had misread. Two Deputies... Unharmed.

Unharmed. But how could that be?

She had seen the “attack” with her very own eyes — had seen Sam brutally fell the two men, beating them repeatedly. They hadn’t moved a muscle after that. Not when he’d dragged them over to that tree and—

The blood drained out of her face so quickly that she thought for a moment that she might faint. She refolded the paper, then leaned back against the counter, attempting to gather her racing thoughts.

First he’d beaten the deputies. Then he’d dragged them to a tree and tied them up. Tied them up! Why would he have bothered to tie up two dead men? Or shoo away their horses?

The answer was so simple. They had never been dead at all. Sam hadn’t murdered anyone.

Oh, how could she have been so silly? How could she have made such a terrible misjudgment?

Across the small room, Sam and Ned conferred over various jars and kegs. At one point, Sam sent her a worried glance, as if he could tell that all was not right with her. But then he was forced to haggle with Ned over some sadlooking dried meat that made Millie’s stomach lurch once again.

This new development threw everything into confusion. Sam was innocent of what she’d accused him of. She had proof of that now. Was his story about his brother being innocent also true?

She looked again at Sam. His proud, straight back. His head of dusty hair, his sun-darkened skin, his intelligent gray eyes. Was he an honest man, as he had claimed? Could she have misjudged him so completely?

It appeared she had.

She blushed to think about the hateful things she had said to him, the names she had called him. So many times he had told her the truth and she had turned a deaf ear, unswerving in her certainty about what she had witnessed. Only what she had seen had been entirely wrong.

His gray eyes were watching her again, and his forehead was creased with worry. He was worried about her? Something in her breast fluttered, and she looked away, stunned by the suddenness of it all.

Sam was innocent. That didn’t change the fact that she was his hostage, of course, although it seemed to change practically everything else. How strange to think that she really had nothing to fear from Sam Winter after all. How strange... and how wonderful!

Chapter Four

“Isn’t this just the loveliest day you’ve ever seen?”

Sam sent his charge a doubtful glance. Up till now, Millie had said not a word after they left Ned’s little shack — just hummed and smiled — and though he appreciated the novelty of her silence, he knew the gears of deception must be grinding away in that twisted feminine mind of hers. The perky tone she chose when she finally spoke confirmed it. Something was up.

“I don’t know when I’ve seen such a lovely day,” she went on enthusiastically, sending him yet another of her beatific smiles.

That was another thing. Why was she looking at him in that simpering, cockeyed way? “You were cranky enough this morning.”

Frankly, he was surprised that she hadn’t attempted some sort of escape back at the store. She’d had ample opportunity to try to get Ned Sparks to hear her story, or to leave him some furtive message. Not that the old fellow could have been much of a help to her.

He frowned as they neared the place where he’d deposited her saddle. After knowing Millie only two full days, the idea of her not having an ulterior motive behind all this sudden complicity struck him as unlikely. These rich girls learned to use all sorts of roundabout tactics to get what they wanted from men.

Unfortunately, forewarned wasn’t always forearmed. He found himself increasingly vulnerable to those thick-lashed dark eyes of hers. While he rode, he often thought about them — and how they would look just before he kissed her. Which wasn’t going to happen, although his rambling thoughts did explain why he’d told that old man back there they were newlyweds. And probably why the old man could believe it, too. When Sam put his arm around Millie, there’d been nothing fake about the fierce stab of desire he felt for her.

Poor kid. She’d probably go screaming into the horizon if she knew what a case he had for her. He glanced warily at her.

Millie beamed. Her dark brown eyes seemed almost to sparkle at him with something that he would have sworn resembled admiration...if he hadn’t known better. That was why it was so important to get his mind off her lips and focus on what was going on inside that brain of hers.

At the top of the hill, Sam reined in his horse. Millie stopped right next to him, and slipped off without his even having to ask her. Carefully he dismounted himself, certain now that she must have some trick up her sleeve.

He walked over to the saddle and lugged it back over to Millie’s horse.

“Here, let me help you with that, Mr. Winter,” she said, coming forward with outstretched hands.

This was too much. “Don’t let’s stand on formality, Millie,” he answered politely. “You can just call me Mr. Murderer.”

She blushed and cast her eyes modestly toward the dirt at his feet. “Oh, no,” she said earnestly, “I would never call you that.”

He let out a sharp laugh as he hefted the silly saddle onto Mrs. Darwimple’s back. “Changed your mind about me, have you?”

She batted her thick black eyelashes twice before looking back at him. “Yes, I have.”

What kind of game was this? “If you think a lie like that is going to make me let my guard down, think again.”

That pointy chin lifted a little higher. “It’s not a lie. I know with perfect certainty that you didn’t kill those two deputies.”

“Did a little bird tell you?”

“No, the newspaper did.”

He looked at her in alarm.

“There was a whole long article on the front page about us — only I guess they didn’t mention my name because that would have been detrimental to my reputation.” She planted her hands on her hips in irritation. “Now I ask you, does that make sense? How else do they expect me to be found?”

Sam’s brows knit together worriedly. Being front-page news didn’t flatter him half as much as it did Millie. “Did the paper have a description of us?”

She sent him a look that let him know precisely how absurd his question was. “Most people in the area know what I look like.”

“Sure, but we’re not in the area. Ned Sparks didn’t suspect us — but maybe he hadn’t read the article yet.”

“That old man? He probably couldn’t see us well enough to identify us, anyway. Besides, he thinks we’re newly married.” She laughed. “And didn’t I play my part well? I thought you would have mentioned that.”

“You were fine,” Sam said, distracted. “You should have snatched that paper, though. That old guy might be better at putting two and two together than we give him credit for.” Sam took to his task more hurriedly. “We’ve got to put some distance between ourselves and this place.”

“Good,” Millie said cheerfully, “I’m anxious to get home.”

Sam stopped in the middle of tugging on the girth. At first, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. But the breezy way she stood nearby, inspecting her fingernails, convinced him that he had. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Aren’t we going back to Chariton?” Her wide, dark eyes were unfazed by his gruff words. “Surely you see this changes everything. I believe you, Sam.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said. “What do you want, a medal?”

“No, I merely want to go home, and now there’s absolutely no reason for us not to. Why should we be gallivanting across the countryside, now that you have a witness who can vouch for what happened? This has all just been a big mistake, and I’m perfectly willing to tell everybody so.”