The Outlaws: Rafe (4 page)

"You two climb aboard, I'll tie Gentry's horse to the tailgate," Tattersal said.

"Damn, damn, double damn," Rafe muttered beneath his breath.
 
Nothing was going his way.
 
Now he was forced to sit beside the tempting church woman, lusting after her while she remained untouchable.

"Did you say something?" Angela asked as she clambered onto the un-sprung seat.

"Not a damn thing," Rafe said, climbing up beside her and taking up the reins.

"Good luck," Tattersal called as the horses jolted off.
 
"Sorry about the misunderstanding, Gentry.
 
Rest assured we'll capture those men responsible for the killings."

An uneasy silence descended as the moon rose higher in the sky and the horses picked their way along the uneven road.
 
Angela wondered what Rafe Gentry was thinking and hoped he didn't expect marital rights just because a preacher said words over them.

 
Strangers.
 
That's what they were.
 
Strangers with nothing in common.
 
Whatever devil had prompted her to claim him as her fiancé had long since abandoned her.
 
She cast a surreptitious glance at him from beneath lowered lids.
 
A wedge of moonlight revealed tightly clenched jaw, high, unshaven cheekbones, shuttered lids framed by indecently long black eyelashes, and full lips.

His expression was shuttered, but instinct warned Angela that he was angry.
 
She couldn't blame him.
 
She was angry, too.
 
No, dismayed was a better word.
 
She had no idea her rash action would lead to such dire consequences.

Married.
 
Lord, her stepfather and Anson Chandler, the man who expected to marry her and gain a gold mine in the bargain, would be livid.

Angela's unease intensified when Rafe pulled the wagon into a stand of trees that hid them almost completely from the road.

 
"Why are we stopping?"

"This is as good a place as any to bed down.
 
If I'm not mistaken, I hear the sound of water rushing over rocks somewhere nearby."
 
He jumped from the wagon and came around to lift her down.
 
"I'll take care of the horses while you look for the stream.
 
Are you hungry?"

"No, I ate earlier."

"So did I.
 
When you return from the stream, there's a lot a questions that need answering."

Angela slanted him a disgruntled look and disappeared inside the wagon for towel and soap.
 
Then she stalked off in search of the stream.
 
She didn't have far to look.
 
She just followed the sound of bubbling water and came upon a narrow brook several yards behind their campsite.
 
She took her time washing, contemplating her answers to the questions Rafe was sure to ask.
 
He deserved answers, she supposed, but how much truth should she tell him?

A twig snapped behind and she whirled, relaxing somewhat when she recognized the impressive contours of Rafe's powerful body silhouetted in the moonlight.
 
She shivered despite the warm night.
 
Everything about him suggested latent strength and virility.

He walked like a man on the prowl, pelvis slanted forward, arms relaxed.
 
Despite his calm facade, Angela sensed the tension coiled within him.
 
He wore his twin Colts as if they were a part of his skin and Angela was willing to bet he knew how to use them.

"What's taking you so long?
 
Don't you know it's dangerous to linger out here alone?
 
Pick up your towel and come to bed,
Mrs. Gentry
."

Angela froze.
 
Mrs. Gentry?
 
Just what did he expect from her?
 
Hands on hips, chin tilted at a stubborn angle, she lashed out at him.

"I'll never be a real wife to you, Rafe Gentry!
 
If you're thinking about taking advantage of me, let me set you straight."

"No, let me set
you
straight, lady," Rafe said harshly.
 
"I never wanted a wife and have no intention of complicating my life by bedding a woman bent on saving my soul.
 
All I want from you are answers.
 
There has to be a reasonable explanation why you married a virtual stranger.
 
And don't try to tell me it was to save my life."

Angela lifted her chin and stalked past him.
 

"Ungrateful wretch!" she muttered in passing.

Desire battered Rafe.
 
The only thing he could think of was how badly he wanted to kiss Angela.
 
He remembered the lush softness of her lips and touched his own with his fingertips, recalling the sweet innocence of her response when he'd kissed her at their wedding ceremony.

If he was the kind of man to take advantage of a woman he wouldn't hesitate to take what he wanted.
 
In the eyes of the law, bedding Angela was his legal right as her husband.
 
Unfortunately it seemed almost sacrilegious to touch so pure an angel.
 
But Rafe never pretended to be a saint.
 
Far from it.
 
He could hold out only so long against the overwhelming temptation his Angel presented.
 
The best thing he could do for Sister Angela was to put distance between them.
 
And that's exactly what he intended to do, as soon as he had the answers he sought.

Kneeling at the brook's edge, he removed his shirt and splashed water over his face and torso.
 
Then he tossed his shirt over his shoulder and followed Angela back to the campsite.
 
His limbs froze and a groan slipped past his lips when he saw Angel's slim form silhouetted against a backdrop of canvas.
 
She was standing inside the wagon, wearing nothing but her chemise and petticoats, blissfully unaware of the spectacle she was providing Rafe.

When she stepped out of her petticoats, Rafe's loins swelled and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
 
Then the lantern went out and Rafe let his imagination run rampant.
 
He envisioned Angela removing her chemise and drawers, then slipping her nightgown over long bare legs and gloriously unrestrained curves.

Madness drove him as his legs moved forward of their own accord.
 
He wanted the angelic songbird, and the way he felt now nothing was going to stop him.
 
Fortunately reason returned when he reached the tailgate and he skidded to a halt.
 
What in the hell was he thinking?
 
Sister Angela may be his wife but she wasn't for him.
 
Besides, she had a fiancé waiting for her in Pueblo.
 
It was time she told him what in the hell was going on.

He paused behind the wagon and rattled the tailgate.
 
"Angela, come out, we need to talk."

"Can't it wait until morning?" came her muffled reply.

"I might not be here in the morning."

That brought an instant response.
 
The lantern flared to life and a tousled blond head appeared in the back opening.
 
"You're leaving?"

"We both knew I eventually would.
 
I want to know why you saved my life.
 
You didn't have to go through with the marriage, you know."
 
His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
 
"Maybe I'm wrong.
 
For whatever reason, perhaps you
did
want a husband.
 
It's difficult to believe you're simply a do-gooder looking for souls to save.
 
If that was your motive, I'm beyond redemption."

Angela ground her teeth in frustration.
 
"I'm sure your soul isn't worth saving, Mr. Gentry.
 
Good night.
 
Or should I say good-bye?"
 
Then she removed her head from the opening and pulled the canvas together with a snap..

Frustrated beyond endurance, Rafe dropped his shirt, vaulted up over the tailgate and lunged through the canvas opening.

"We're not through talking,
Mrs. Gentry
."

Angela grabbed for her shawl and pulled it over her flimsy nightgown.
 
"Get out!"

"In my own good time.
 
Sit down, sister, and tell me what possessed you to save my life.
 
Not that I'm ungrateful," he added, "just confused."

Angela stared at Rafe's bare chest as is she'd never seen a man in that state of undress before, as indeed she hadn't.
 
She wanted to shut her eyes but couldn't.
 
She'd never thought of a man's body as arousing, until she saw Rafe Gentry's bare torso.
 
Tongues of flickering light lapped at his rippling muscles and sculptured chest.
 
She tired to focus on his face but something perverse compelled her to slide her gaze down his torso, to the lean, tempered plane of his stomach.

She flushed and returned her gaze to his face.
 
The light was bright enough to reveal wide, deep-set eyes and boldly slanted eyebrows.
 
His hair was thick and long and black as ink against his neck and throat.
 
His nose was straight, his jaw square and his chin aggressively blunted.

His was a handsome face, but not without character.
 
Painful memories shadowed his silver eyes and Angela suspected his lopsided smile hid a checkered past.
 
Instinct told her he wasn't a killer but common sense warned her he was no stranger to violence.

She watched the play of lamplight in his eyes and experienced a prickling rush of sensation travel up her spine.
 
As unnerving as it was, Angela couldn't look away.
 
It was the sound of his voice that finally jerked her from her bemusement.

"Do you realize we're in one helluva fix?
 
Excuse me, Sister, if I offend your delicate ears, but I can think of no other word to describe our situation.
 
Why did you let the preacher marry us?"

"Why did you?"

"I had a skin to save, you didn't.
 
Hell, I would have agreed to anything to save my life.
 
You, on the other hand, had nothing to gain."

Her chin notched upward.
 
"I couldn't let an innocent man die."

He sent her a startled look.
 
"What made you think I was innocent?"

She stared at his bare chest and looked away.
 
"Would you please put on a shirt?"

Rafe gave her a lopsided grin.
 
"Do I bother you?"

"Yes.
 
No.
 
I don't know.
 
It isn't right."

"Haven't you ever seen a man's bare chest before."

"Of course not," she said stiffly.

"We're married, or have you forgotten?"

Surely he didn't want...didn't expect to...
 
"In name only, and that's how it's going to remain until we part company."

He was too close, filling the small space with his powerful presence and daunting body.
 
She retreated until the back of her legs hit the cot behind her.
 
He took an aggressive step forward, until he was so close she felt his hot breath fan her cheek.

"What do you want?
 
You can't...
 
I won't let you...
 
Why are you doing this?"

"Are you really a prissy, purse-lipped holy woman, Angel?
 
Or is that just a facade you assume whenever it suits you?
 
What are you
really
like beneath that angelic halo you wear so well?"

A jolt of heat surged through her veins.
 
Angela hated to think that the sight of Rafe's naked chest bothered her even though her stomach was flooding with a strange and potent warmth.

"You're insulting," Angela said, drawing her shawl closer around her.
 
"Say what you have to say and leave."

"All right."
 
He grasped her shoulders and pushed her down on the cot.
 
She wanted to jump up when he sat down beside her but she forced herself to ignore the tension arcing between them.

"Let's start off with the truth.
 
Why did you save my skin back there in Ordway.
 
For all you knew I was a cold-blooded killer."

"I was simply repaying a debt.
 
You helped me in Garden City, remember?
 
Would a killer do that?
 
Besides, lynching is against the law."