Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens

had been dull for so long.

      It was the next establishment, though, that made her gasp and Libby spin about in alarm. The name on the frosted glass door read E. M. Probst, MD.

      Each night of her captivity she had gone to sleep thanking the Good Lord that her children remained healthy for another day. Way out on the Broken Brand, illness could be a death sentence. There were several small graves on that cursed land.

      Somehow, she managed to regain her composure by the time they reached their destination, Henry’s General Store.

      A splat of moisture hit her bare head, cold and stinging as though it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be rain or snow.

      She hugged Seth tight to her chest. Beside her, Libby shivered. Tonight she would offer thanks that they would be sleeping in the hotel, that the children would not catch a chill by staying out in the elements.

      Government money would pay for the cost, Reeve had assured her—just like the cost of the new clothes they were about to purchase.

      She didn’t believe that, not for a moment. If she had to work all hours of the day and night she would pay Reeve Prentis back.

      But Libby was right. They did look like riffraff that the cat had dragged in. Well, not all of them.

      Reeve looked perfectly wonderful, walking ahead of her on the boardwalk. He carried Flynn in one arm and Pansy in the other.

      He had left his gun belt in his saddle pack so that it would be safer to tote her little wild man about.

      The marshal strode straight and tall. Even without the weapon he had the bearing of a man of authority. Yes, he spoke to the children and made them laugh, but all the while he glanced about, scanning dim alleys and watching folks as they passed by.

      It must be habit for him, looking out for trouble.

      Once again, emotion pressed tears to the backs of her eyes. Because of Reeve, she felt safe for the first time in a long while.

      He carried Flynn and Pansy into the store. Joe followed.

      Needing a moment and a deep breath to once again compose herself, Melody stood outside while Libby went in before her.

      Libby screeched.

      Melody rushed inside to see the girl frozen in place with one hand over her mouth and her finger wagging at the counter where a display of jars containing hard candy shimmered in a rainbow of colors.

      The store clerk, very clearly, did not share her joy. His eyes narrowed. He swung his head back and forth, taking in each person’s disreputable appearance.

      “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked with an arrogant arch of his brows.

      “That’s candy!” Joe exclaimed.

      He and Libby approached the counter, shoulder to shoulder, their eyes as wide as their grins.

      “Those are peppermint sticks,” Joe said. “I recall one time that Uncle Cyrus brought some home from a raid.”

      “He didn’t share them,” Libby said. “But they sure smelled good.”

      On the right side of the counter was a basket of hair ribbons. Libby turned, reaching toward the ribbons. Her fingers stroked the air over them.

      “I reckon the shiny ones are satin,” she said in an almost-reverent tone. “And those others, are they velvet, Melody?”

      “Don’t you touch those, young woman,” the counter man ordered. “And you, boy, keep those dirty fingers off the candy jars.”

      Poor Libby, her cheeks flamed.

      “I wouldn’t take one, I swear,” she said.

      Reeve set Flynn and Pansy on the floor. He approached the basket, patted Libby’s shoulder then scooped up all the ribbons in his big fist.

      “I’ll take these and whatever else the young lady wants.” Reeve shrugged off his coat, exposing his badge. “Give me all the peppermint in the jar and the licorice, to go with it.”

      The skinny man gulped, sending his Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat.

      “Yes, sir, Marshal.”

      “Mind your manners, mister, and help these good folks with whatever they need. If you don’t have it, find someone who does and have it brought here. Be sure to pack everything up in nice, neat packages and have them delivered to the hotel.”

      The counter clerk bobbed his half-bald head.

      “I’ll be back to settle up in half an hour.”

      “Yes, sir, Marshal.” The man blinked pale green eyes that were a size too large for his face. “It’ll be just as you say.”

      “See that it is.”

      Reeve turned to Melody, then took her by the elbow and led her to stand by the big potbellied stove that heated the store.

      “Buy whatever you need. The government’s got more money in the fund than it knows what to do with. I’ve got to pay a visit to the town marshal, but I’ll be back shortly. We can all walk over to the hotel together.”

      He took a step toward the front door, but she touched his arm, halting him. The supple leather of his shirt felt warm and his muscles firm under her fingertips.

      “This is the first time any of the children have been inside a store. Thank you for not allowing the clerk to disrespect them.”

      He answered with a nod, then went out the door, closing it on an increasingly angry-looking storm.

      She went to the window and pulled aside the curtain to watch him dash across the earthen street. He was a big man walking in long powerful strides. His shoulders, hunched against a sudden downpour, looked as if they could carry the world.

       Chapter Three

      Melody stood in the center of the hotel room wearing her clean, new shift. She clenched her toes against the smooth wood floor, listening to the storm that howled under the eaves.

      Unlike Libby, Pansy and Flynn, curled in a cozy tangle in one of the beds, she could not sleep. Even a simple doze was beyond her reach tonight.

      Sleet hit the window with a quiet splat. She checked on Seth tucked into his crate. With his little belly full, he ought to be asleep for a few hours.

      Quiet breathing, heavy in sleep, sighed through the room. There would be none of that for her tonight.

      Nothing, it seemed, could ease the anxiety she felt over finally going home tomorrow. She wanted it, as much as her next heartbeat, but she dreaded it, too.

      How would her parents receive her? And not only her parents, what about the rest of the town? Some might see her as a victim, but others might believe that as an outlaw’s wife, she was tainted.

      Perhaps she was. She was certainly not the carefree girl who had run away with Ram, her hopes and dreams as fresh as sunrise.

      Life had hardened her, and yet motherhood had made her more compassionate.

      She hated to think it, but her parents might not even recognize their little girl. They would love her, still. She knew that. Maybe once she fell into their embrace, something of that carefree girl would return.

      In the end, all of the hoping in the world was not going to allow her to sleep. Nerves jittered inside her until all she could do was pace from the window to the door, from the door to the window.

      It was late, eleven o’clock. The clerk downstairs had told her that they kept a fire going in the lobby all night for restless guests and folks coming in at odd hours.

      She paused in front of the hook on the wall where her new dress hung. She took it down and put it on. It smelled