The Reluctant Outlaw. Karen Kirst
eyes. “That’s impossible. Mr. Clawson is dead. His son-in-law, Larry Moore, is the owner now.”
Swallowing his frustration, he struggled to maintain an air of indifference. Could she see the vein throbbing at his temple? “My mistake. Guess I mixed up the names.”
A loud shout, followed by a heavy thump, sounded through the door. Evan cringed, resisting the urge to turn and look. She craned her neck to peer beyond his shoulder, and he sidestepped to block her line of sight.
“Someone is in there,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“Trust me, I’m not playing—”
“Is there a problem, Miss O’Malley?” a male voice interrupted from the street.
This situation was going from bad to worse. Evan turned to see a well-dressed man observing them, his curious gaze shifting from the young woman to settle on him. As a stranger in town, Evan would naturally be regarded with a certain amount of suspicion. He had to fix this. Fast.
“Good morning, Lane,” the young lady greeted the man with a slight smile. “This gentleman and I were just discussing—”
“How rude I was for not opening the door for her,” Evan finished. Grabbing the door handle, he made a slight bow. Surprise flashed across her face. “I do apologize for the oversight, ma’am.” Evan pulled the door open and with a light hand on her elbow ushered her inside, calling over his shoulder, “I apologize for the misunderstanding. Good day, sir.”
“Yes, goodbye, Lane.”
The door closed with a final whoosh, cutting off her farewell. Through the window, Evan watched the man hesitate a moment before planting his hat back on his head and walking away. One problem taken care of. One to go.
“What was that all about?” she demanded.
Evan scanned the room. Fitzgerald was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably in the back, tying up the owner.
He took hold of her arm, speaking in low, urgent tones. “You’re in a situation way over your head, lady. I need you to walk back out that door and as far away from this mercantile as you can. Talk to no one. I can’t guarantee your safety if you alert anyone to what’s happening here.”
She stared at him. “What—”
“No questions. There isn’t time—”
“What’s that girl doing in here?”
Evan stiffened at the sound of Fitzgerald’s cold voice behind him. “Keep quiet,” he murmured in her ear. Without releasing her, he faced the outlaw whose features were concealed by a red bandanna.
“She was determined to do her shopping,” Evan drawled. “Looks like her impatience has earned her a stint in the storeroom with the owner. I’ll tie her up.”
“You will do no such thing!” she cried, attempting to pry his hand loose.
Fitzgerald shook his head. “Forget it. She’ll have to come with us.”
“No.” Her chances of survival were slim to none if she went with them.
“She’s seen your face. We can’t leave her here.”
“I thought we agreed—no hostages. I don’t like this—”
“Then you should’ve done your job and kept her away,” Fitzgerald snapped. “Let’s go.”
Evan hesitated in order to give Fitzgerald a few second’s head start.
“A hostage will only slow you down, you know,” she argued, her eyes large in her pale face. “Leave me here. I’ll tell the sheriff I didn’t get a good look at you. You have my word.”
He didn’t reply. What could he say at this point? His mind was whirling with too many scenarios—all of them unpleasant—to attempt rational conversation.
“You’re making a huge mistake! As soon as people realize what’s happened, they’ll organize a posse and come looking for you.”
He sensed her mounting desperation, but was helpless to do anything about it.
“Isn’t the cash enough? Do you really want to add kidnapping to your list of crimes?”
Ignoring her questions, he forcibly led her past the stockroom and the floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with goods, past the storekeeper’s office and, finally, to the private quarters. At the rear entrance, he warned her to keep quiet.
“Where’s Mr. Moore?” she demanded. “Is he okay?”
He slipped the Colt Peacemaker out of his holster, making sure she got a good look at it. He wasn’t above intimidation to keep her in line. Her life depended on it. “Whatever you do, stay close to me.”
For once, she didn’t utter a word. Evan hoped that she wasn’t too strong-willed to do as he said. He didn’t know what Fitz would do if she made a scene.
He grabbed the bandanna bunched around his neck and tugged it up to cover his face. Opening the door a crack, he checked the alleyway. Fitz and Art were already saddling up. He hurried her down the wooden stairs to where his horse, Lucky, was hitched, prodding her forward with a hand on her back.
“Get on the horse.”
She dug her heels in the rocky dirt. “Uh-uh.”
“Do it or I’ll toss you up there myself,” he growled from his position directly behind her, letting her feel the tip of the gun barrel near her shoulder. Her resistance irritated him—didn’t she have the good sense to be scared?
With a huff, she grabbed the saddle horn, placed her foot in the stirrup and hauled herself up. He replaced his firearm and swung up behind her.
Art’s eyes bulged when he spotted her. “Who’s that?”
Fitz barked, “Never mind. Let’s ride.”
“Might as well relax,” Evan told his hostage, signaling Lucky to head out. “It’s gonna be a long ride.”
Juliana O’Malley seethed with anger. As the miles between her and Gatlinburg stretched endlessly into the distance, she passed the time dreaming up ways to get even with the man holding her captive—everything from pushing him off a cliff to hog-tying him and leaving him at the mercy of wild animals.
It was either that or succumb to mind-numbing fear. She was familiar with firearms all right, but never in her life had she had one waved in her face.
Lord Jesus, please help me, she prayed. I’m in a bit of a situation here.
If only she’d heeded her instincts. The moment she became aware of the man in black’s blatant scrutiny, she’d known that he was no gentleman. Her cheeks burned even now as she recalled how his intense gaze had taken in every inch of her. Scandalous!
She squirmed in the saddle. His muscled arms tightened in response, imprisoning her against his rock-hard chest. His warm breath stirred the hair at her nape and prickles of awareness danced along her skin.
Juliana squeezed her eyes tight and tried not to dwell on his disturbing nearness. At least he smelled pleasant enough, she consoled herself. Beneath the smell of horse and sweat, she detected the clean scent of soap.
They would have to stop soon, she reasoned. They’d ridden for what seemed like an eternity, yet her kidnappers had given no sign of slowing the horses. She was hot and thirsty, her mouth gritty from the dust clouds stirred by the horses’ hooves.
As desperately as she wanted to get off the horse, however, she wasn’t eager to find out what they planned to do with her once they reached their destination.
As she saw it, she had only one option. Escape. She’d have to try to outrun him, because she was no match for his physical strength. Luckily, she was a fast runner. Just