Renegade Most Wanted. Carol Arens

dust devil whirled down the middle of the street. A woman sitting on a bench outside the land office swung up her parasol, hiding from the gust until it passed by.

      Matt slowed his pace. The lady was something to look at, as appealing as a prairie flower. She shook dust from her umbrella, then fluffed her skirt out on the bench.

      Her hair had mostly come undone from the bun at her neck. Sunlight speckled gold threads in the curls that tumbled down her back.

      When he had the time he’d have to remember her delicate womanhood and make up a song about her. He’d sing it to the beeves to soothe them at roundup some long dark night from now.

      He might have approached her if his plans for the afternoon had been different, but he shouldn’t have slowed his pace as it was.

      He’d passed by the marshal’s office and been relieved to see Dodge’s lawman asleep. His snorts and snores should have been reassuring, but the air was ripe with something being wrong.

      Matt glanced up and down the street, ready to duck behind the building where his cousin and accomplice, Billy, waited with a getaway horse in a gully covered with brush. There was just enough space between overgrowth and sand to hide a man and a horse, but not for long.

      He’d just made up his mind to sneak around back when Gray Derby Bart, the meanest drunk in Dodge, staggered up to the woman on the bench. She smiled at him politely, but she had no idea what she might be getting into just by that common act of friendliness.

      Bart might be a small man but he was mean through and through, especially when it came to the gentler sex.

      Matt quick-footed it past the bank. Billy could wait a few minutes. The woman could not.

      The sky at sunrise wasn’t as pretty as her blue eyes. From the spark of interest glittering in Bart’s rheumy gaze, he must have thought the same, but not in any respectful way a man should look at a decent woman.

      “Afternoon, ma’am … Bart?” Matt tipped his hat. The lady turned her smile away from Bart and let it shine on him. Chilly nights on the cow trail would be considerably warmer if he could remember her smile, just so.

      “Good afternoon.” Her voice washed clean through him. It was the sweetest sound he’d heard in some time.

      “I hope Bart here isn’t causing you any concern, miss.”

      “My concern ain’t no concern of yours, Matthew Suede.” Bart’s lip curled up in one corner, like an old dog snapping for a fight. “Me and the lady were conducting some personal business.”

      Sometimes when he was in his cups Bart imagined things. This sure would be one of those times, since this delicate woman would not be likely to have dealings with a scoundrel.

      Matt dug into his pocket and withdrew a dollar bill. He pushed it into Bart’s fist. “Go on over to the Long Branch and give that business some further thought.”

      Bart glanced at the money, then at the lady. Oddly enough, she didn’t seem pleased. Surely she couldn’t be sorry to be rid of Bart.

      “I’ll be back shortly, sweet thing. You wait right here for me and we’ll finish what we were up to.” Bart closed one eye in a lewd wink. A dribble of spit leaked out the corner of his mouth when he leaned forward as though he thought to kiss the lady.

      She snapped her umbrella up. Such a frilly weapon wouldn’t discourage that snake. The lady wouldn’t know not to make an enemy of Bart. Best to keep him pointed toward the saloon and let him drink his meanness into a stupor.

      “Go on, now.” Matt stepped between the parasol and the drunk. He directed Bart down the steps much as he would herd a straying cow. “Bad luck to let good whiskey go waiting.”

      “Don’t you move, sweet thing,” Bart called from halfway across the street.

      From behind, a rustling of silk and lace told Matt that the woman had risen from the bench. He’d like to stay a while and bask in her gratitude for getting rid of Bart, but Billy was probably getting nervous by now.

      If the day had been different he would have invited the lady for a steak at Del Monico’s. They could get acquainted in a proper way.

      “Blast and tarnation!”

      Startled, Matt spun about and found himself gazing down at the woman’s shifting bustle. Too soon she straightened, then whirled on him with a shotgun gripped in her small, lacy-gloved fists.

      This rose had thorns all up and down her pretty stem.

      “Why, you interfering do-gooder!” She must have seen him go wide-eyed, for she plunked her weapon, nose-first, onto the boardwalk. “I was just about to get a—”

      All of a sudden her gaze turned speculative. She slid the shotgun onto the bench behind her along with her umbrella. She planted her hands on her hips, swaying ever so slightly while she looked him up and down. Now he knew how a steer would feel, being priced for market.

      All of a sudden the woman appeared soft, like a cuddly kitten that had retracted its claws.

      “You stay clear of that old man, miss. He may not look like much, but he’s mean as a mad dog.”

      Matt spun about. It was definitely time to meet his cousin.

      “Mr. Suede,” he heard the lady call out from behind. “Are you a married man?”

      He glanced back, smiled and tipped his hat, but his boots couldn’t carry him down the walk fast enough.

      Emma pushed open the door to the livery and stepped inside. A beam of light from a window near the rafters stabbed through the interior of the huge barn, making it feel almost like church on a quiet afternoon. If it hadn’t been for the dust particles swirling lazily about, she’d have been of a mind to get on her knees and ask the almighty for a man. But she’d had about enough of dust for one day. The livery floor, while clean enough for a barn, wasn’t the place to kneel in a prolonged prayer, and prolonged prayer was what she would need to get a husband before the land office closed for the day.

      “Mr. Adams?” Emma called out.

      Jesse Adams kept his livery as neat as a woman kept a house. It smelled good in here, with the scent of polished leather, fresh hay and clean horses all mixed together.

      A door in the back of the barn creaked open. A man poked his head through the opening but didn’t come inside. From a dim corner a horse nickered a greeting.

      “Oh … good afternoon, Miss Parker.” Jesse Adams took a glance back at whatever he had been doing, then flashed a fresh, friendly grin at her. Too bad the man claimed to be nearly engaged. “Is there something I can help you with?”

      “I’ve just come by to check on my horse and my supplies. Do you mind if I stay here for a while?”

      A frown creased his forehead while he considered her request but he said, “You make yourself at home, ma’am. I’ll be right out back. Holler if you need something.”

      If only hollering would get her what she needed. She’d come so close, too. That old gent in front of the mercantile had all but agreed to marry her, and for only ten dollars. True, he had been drunk and smelly, but she could have overlooked those flaws for the few moments she would need to borrow his name.

      Drat that fine-looking Mr. Suede. If he hadn’t filled her prospect’s fist with money and sent him along to the saloon, she’d be hitching up her rented team, ready to cross the wide-open prairie by now. She’d finally be going home.

      Not to someone else’s home, to her own. What a wonder it would be to plant trees in her own soil and watch them grow. Wouldn’t it be fine to not have to continually move on, and leave her plantings to grow up without her?

      In her new life there wouldn’t be other people’s children hanging on her skirts wanting this and that. Emma had still been a child herself when she had started raising other folks’ babies. Praise be that the days of