The Outlaw's Redemption. Renee Ryan

Careful.

      Melting into the shadows, he blew into his cupped palms. The air had taken on a cold, nasty bite. Hunter couldn’t help but feel he was being watched, a remnant of his former life when he had to look over his shoulder wherever he went. But those days were over, the members of his former gang either dead or living in Mexico.

      His breath formed a fine mist around his head, adding a sinister feel to what he’d come here to do.

      And yet, and yet, he felt a sliver of hope building inside him. Hope for the future, hope that he could become the godly man he’d once been. And maybe capture some stability along the way.

      He lowered his hands and stepped in the direction of the brothel’s threshold. The physical act of moving brought the rest of the world into focus. Sights, sounds, the smells of stale liquor and wet horse flooded his senses.

      Music drifted out of the brothel’s open windows. The bawdy songs suited the raucous laughter and coarse shouts. Golden light called to Hunter, the soft glow promising warmth from the cold and a momentary respite from the constant loneliness that plagued him.

      An illusion. Nothing but pain and regret followed a night with one of Mattie’s girls.

      And Hunter had stalled long enough.

      With single-minded focus, he shoved away his dark thoughts, then took the steps two at a time. As he shouldered into the vine-covered building, a sickening dread crept through his stomach.

      Nothing had changed. Not the hideous decor. Not the musky odor of cigar smoke mingled with cheap perfume. Not the seedy clientele. The brothel wasn’t as bad as he remembered. It was much worse.

      Mattie Silks was nothing if not obvious.

      The gaudy red velvet furniture stood in stark contrast to the gold filigree wallpaper. Tasteless rugs with bold, floral prints covered the wood flooring. Vulgar paintings hung on the walls. Their vivid colors and shocking themes gave Hunter a new perspective on past sins.

      Only recently back in the habit of praying, he lifted up a silent request.

      Forgive me, Lord.

      A simple prayer, born from a lifetime of bad choices and wrong living. Shaking free of the thought, Hunter stepped deeper into the brothel and caught sight of Mattie’s right-hand man striding toward him, a scowl on his mean, ugly face.

      “Jack.” Hunter took in the big brute’s broad shoulders, flat nose and bad attitude. “Still the ever faithful servant, I see.”

      Jack smiled in response, not a real smile, more a baring of teeth. “You were told to come by tomorrow.”

      “Yeah, well.” Hunter stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m here now.”

      “Nevertheless.” Jack crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Miss Silks isn’t expecting you.”

      “I say we let Mattie decide if she’ll see me tonight.”

      Eyes locked with his, the big man dug in his heels. “She won’t like that you’ve come during business hours.”

      Of course she wouldn’t like it. Neither did Hunter. But he wanted answers more than he wanted to appease a difficult woman like Mattie Silks. “Either you inform her I’m here, or I tell her myself.”

      Finished with the standoff, Hunter started forward.

      Jack stepped into his path. “Wait here.”

      “Whatever you say.”

      Frowning, Jack disappeared into the crowd.

      Left to cool his heels, Hunter shifted out of the main traffic area and looked around. Business was booming.

      He heaved a heavy sigh. The curvy blondes, willowy brunettes and pouty redheads perpetuated the cycle of sin and degradation. All had similar expressions on their faces, blank, distant, slightly separated from the moment, as if they’d given up hope a long time ago.

      Hunter understood such brokenness, such pain. Understood all too well.

      A small commotion broke out near the back of the room, saving him from further reflection. Low, excited murmurs filled the air, followed by a quick straightening of female shoulders, a widening of male eyes. All heads turned. A beat passed. And then...

      Mattie made her entrance.

      Dressed in a blue silk dress with layers of cream-colored, frothy lace, the infamous madam sauntered through the main parlor of her brothel like a queen lording it over her realm. She ignored everyone but Hunter.

      With a half smile on her lips, she took her time crossing the room, striking a pose every fifth or sixth step. She carried a flute of champagne in her hand. A prop, nothing more. Mattie never indulged in alcohol, especially not during peak business hours.

      Her head was always the clearest in the room, and the reason she’d been able to run her business for the past thirty years with alarming success.

      Hips swaying, her face overly painted, Mattie stopped her approach inches shy of running into Hunter, close enough for him to get a whiff of her cloying perfume.

      “Hunter, darling.” She struck a final, dramatic pose—one hand on her hip, glass poised at shoulder-level, eyes lowered to half-mast. “What a surprise.”

      “A pleasant one, I hope.”

      “Time will tell.” She angled her head to the side. “Greet me properly, you rogue, and maybe I won’t hold your impertinence against you.”

      “But of course.” He leaned down and touched his lips to the plumped, curved cheek she offered. “Hello, Mattie.”

      “Hunter.” She pulled back and studied him with narrow-eyed precision. “Now. Let me look at you.”

      Having been through this routine before, he stood completely still, eyes cast forward. Her gaze traveled from the top of his head, down to his toes and back up again.

      “The years have been kind to you,” she decided, then reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw. “It’s really unfair, you know, that you should look this handsome when you are so decidedly in need of a shave.”

      Without waiting for a response, she continued her scrutiny, seemingly oblivious to his tense shoulders and stiff smile. He worked to contain his need to speed things along. This was Mattie Silks, after all. The woman had her own set of rules. If he wanted answers, he had to play her game. For now.

      “If memory serves,” he said in a low, confidential tone, “you like your men a little scruffy.”

      “Oh, I do.” She circled around to his other side and plucked at his sleeve. “I really, really, really do.”

      Hunter watched the madam out of the corner of his eye. “You’re as pretty as ever, Mattie. I must say, you don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”

      She laughed in delight, then leaned in closer, her hand clutching at his arm. “You always were a silver-tongued brute. Is it any wonder I like you better than that holier-than-thou brother of yours?”

      Of course she liked Hunter better than Logan. Hunter had spent most of his adult years on the wrong side of the law. While his brother was a former U.S. marshal, a man bent on seeking justice by legal means only. Hunter had no such compunction, as evidenced by his two-year stint in prison. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

      “Tell me, Hunter, my dear boy—”

      “Boy?” He gave a humorless laugh. He hadn’t been a boy for a very long time.

      Grinning at his reaction, Mattie walked her fingertips up his arm, squeezed his biceps. He swallowed his distaste. All part of the ritual, he reminded himself.

      “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine evening? Dare I hope you’ve returned to your old ways?” She looked him over yet again, this time with obvious intent in her heavy-lidded