Abbie's Outlaw. Victoria Bylin

tsked his tongue. “You have a lot to learn, kid. First off, don’t waste your breath on straight denials. Muddy the water with a bit of truth. If I were you, I’d say something like, ‘I found some change on the floor, but that’s all.’”

      Robbie rolled his eyes, but John ignored it. “As for stealing, taking all the money isn’t smart. In a few minutes, Mary’s going to come looking for what she’s owed. If you had taken half of it, she’d think her customer made a mistake and you’d be off scot-free.”

      As Robbie opened his mouth to argue, a woman wearing an apron stepped out of the café. “Has anyone seen Cole? He forgot to pay his bill.”

      Keeping his gaze on Robbie, John said, “Cole’s not the problem, Mary.”

      Sizing up the situation, the gray-haired woman marched up to Robbie and put her hands on her hips. “Did you steal from me, young man?”

      “No!” Seemingly horrified, Robbie gripped Abbie’s sleeve. “Mama? Tell them I didn’t do it.”

      Being called “Mama” made her furious. Shaking her head, she said, “I wish I could, but we’ve been down this road before.”

      “I didn’t take the money! I swear it. Father would believe me! He cared about me. You’re just a stupid—”

      “Apologize.”

      The command in John’s voice sent chills down Abbie’s spine. With the intensity of hell itself, he stared at Robbie, showing the boy that he’d met his match.

      Startled, her son looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, Ma.”

      Abbie put iron in her voice. “You and I will finish this discussion later.”

      “But, Mama—”

      “Don’t say another word.” Abbie faced Mary and opened her handbag. “How much did he take?”

      Just then a young cowboy poked his head through the doorway. “Hey, Mary, I can’t find my pocketknife. Did I leave it on the table?”

      “Cole Montgomery, did you pay your bill?” asked the cook.

      “Of course, I did! I left it under the sugar bowl like always.”

      With his cheeks burning, Robbie dug the money out of his pocket. “Here,” he said to Mary. “I’m sorry.”

      John rocked back on his heels. “Sorry you took it or sorry you got caught?”

      “Both, I guess.”

      “That’s honest,” John answered. “But to make things right, you need to pay back more than you took.”

      “I could use an extra dishwasher tomorrow,” Mary said. “It’s flapjack day and I’m expecting a crowd.”

      “He’ll be there,” Abbie replied. “What time?”

      “Six a.m.”

      So she wouldn’t be sleeping past dawn and enjoying the comfortable bed. Getting Robbie downstairs would be a battle, but Abbie gave a firm nod. “I’ll be sure he’s on time.”

      John shook his head. “You need your rest. I’ll tap on your door in the morning. That way Robbie and I can have breakfast before he gets to work.”

      Her son glared at John. “My name isn’t Robbie. It’s Robert.”

      “I’ll call you ‘Robert’ when you earn it,” John answered. “I was Johnny for a lot of years, so I know what a name means.”

      Abbie froze at the memory of hearing his name for the first time. Her twisted ankle hadn’t taken her weight, and he’d helped her into his saddle. Her skirt had hiked up her calf, and she’d caught him looking just before he’d climbed up behind her.

      My name’s John Leaf.

      I’d rather call you Johnny. It suits you.

      Lord, she’d been such a flirt. But a man’s attention had been so exciting, so intriguing—now she knew better.

      As Mary left the lobby, Abbie turned back to Nate at the counter. “I’m sorry for the interruption. How much do I owe you for the rooms?”

      The clerk shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Windsor, but I can’t have that boy in my hotel.”

      Panic pulsed through her. She hadn’t noticed another hotel. Hating the necessity of it, she humbled her voice. “I promise to keep an eye on him.”

      Nate shook his head. “I can’t risk it, ma’am. The railroad boss is staying here. He’d never come back if a thief picked his pocket. Besides, you and the boy can stay with the Reverend. Mrs. Cunningham won’t mind staying over to make sure things are proper.”

      John shook his head. “That won’t work.”

      “Why not?” asked Nate.

      “Because it just won’t,” John replied.

      Abbie interrupted. “I refuse to impose. Perhaps you can recommend a boardinghouse?”

      Nate scratched his neck. “There’s one by the depot.”

      “Absolutely not,” said John. “The place has fleas and the plumbing’s broken.”

      Abbie’s skin crawled. She hated bugs of any kind. Facing Nate, she said, “Perhaps we could rent a room somewhere else? Maybe from another widow?”

      “Not with your boy’s bad habits,” Nate said with a frown. When Abbie stayed silent, he gave a satisfied nod. “They sell flea powder at the Emporium. You might want to pick some up.”

      Noise. Bugs. Broken plumbing. She was on the verge of begging Nate to reconsider when Robbie crossed his arms over his chest. “Mother, we can’t possibly stay at a boardinghouse.”

      That did it. Abbie refused to raise a snob. “We certainly can. You stole money and lied. I don’t blame this gentleman one bit for not letting us stay here.”

      “But that other place isn’t decent. Father would be angry—”

      “He’d also be angry with your behavior.” Abbie hated the lie that rolled from her lips. Robert would have made excuses for his son and raised his allowance. Facing Nate, she said, “The boardinghouse will be fine. Could you send over our trunk?”

      John clasped her elbow. “You’ll have to stay at the parsonage. Sally’s place isn’t safe.”

      Abbie held in a cynical laugh. Her own home hadn’t been safe, either. Nor had she been safe with Johnny Leaf on her grandmother’s farm.

      Are you sure, Abbie?

      Yes…no…please don’t stop…

      They’d tumbled onto a downy mattress where he’d pressed her deep into the fluff. It had been a warm night, humid and heavy with rain, and she’d been wearing her grandmother’s precious silk robe…The memory faded, leaving in its wake a low-bellied fear. Never mind the comforts of the parsonage. She’d feel safer in the company of strangers than with this man who still had a powerful hold over her. With the decision made, she slid out of John’s grasp, lifted the valise and headed for the door. “Robbie, let’s go.”

      “Abbie, wait,” John called.

      She picked up her pace, but it didn’t stop him from pulling up next to her. He clasped her arm again, more forcefully this time because she was moving. Pain shot from her shoulder to her neck, but she hid it. “Let go of me,” she ordered.

      He released her immediately, but she was too stunned by the pain to move. His face was inches from hers, fiery and full of purpose as he hooked his hands in his coat. “If you go to Sally’s, the fleas will be the least of your problems. She rents rooms to whores and drunks who use each other for target practice.”

      Abbie turned to her