The Outlaw's Angel (Daughters of the Prairie 1)

T

hen he noticed her eyes. He’d mistaken them for blue at first, but they were actually deep violet—the rich hue of his mother’s amethyst brooch.

Course the Indians had stolen her prized possession after they raped and slaughtered her.

He shook his head to dislodge the repugnant thoughts. He hadn’t gone down that path in decades, and he wasn’t about to start now. There were more important things at hand. His very life, for one. Keeping his body completely still, he pulled one hand free of the ropes.

Stiles hadn’t responded to the lady’s query about the prisoners. His mouth opened, shut, and opened again, and his cheeks reddened even further. If the man got much redder he’d surely explode.

Bobby chuckled under his breath. The sheriff was smitten. Smitten with this beautiful angel. Well, who wouldn’t be?

“I take it this young man is one of your prisoners?” The lady nodded to Bobby.

“Yes, m-ma’am,” Stiles stammered.

Young man? Bobby scoffed. He’d become a man at ten and seen twenty-two years past that. He’d shot and collected bounties on criminals this angel couldn’t even imagine.

“I’m being held on a false report, ma’am,” he said. “The sheriff here seems to think I killed a man last night. He is, however, mistaken. I am no murderer.”

Truer words had never been spoken. He might be a killer, but he was no murderer. Not like the savages who’d murdered his ma in cold blood.

“Now I’ve told you, Morgan, I have witnesses.” Stiles’s voice cracked.

“Goodness, Sheriff,” the woman said. “You might be a little more polite. If this young man says he didn’t do it—”

“Naomi...er...Miss B-Blackburn—” Stiles sat down behind his desk and opened a drawer.

Bobby stopped listening to the conversation to inspect the drawer’s contents. The gleam of a mirror caught his eye. Next to it sat a leather strop.

Where there’s smoke...

He waited. Seconds ticked by as his heart thundered so loudly he thought it might wake the other prisoners. There’d be a chance. He had to believe it. Stiles was so smitten with Miss Naomi Blackburn that he’d let his guard down eventually. Bobby just needed to be patient.

“I brought fresh bread for you,” Naomi said as she removed the checkered cloth.

The yeasty aroma wafted toward Bobby, and he inhaled. Though the bread smelled good, and God knew he needed a decent meal, he was sorry it diluted her lavender fragrance.

“I’ll enjoy that with my lunch, Miss Blackburn.” Stiles cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“You are, of course, welcome to it, Sheriff,” Naomi said, “but you are to share it with these men.” She gestured to Bobby and then the others still snoozing in the cell. “That is on my pa’s orders.”

“Y-Yes, of course I will,” Stiles said, still blushing. “Now please, let me see you to the door. This is no place for a lady.” The sheriff rose and left the desk, taking Naomi’s elbow, his back to Bobby.

Quick as a rattler yet quiet as a mouse, Bobby hopped from the chair and rummaged through the still open drawer. Underneath the mirror, partially hidden by the strop, was the sheriff’s straight razor.

Eureka.

He grabbed it, crept toward the door where Stiles and Naomi stood, their backs to him, and whipped one arm around the woman’s waist, the thick rope dangling from his wrist. With the other, he settled the razor against her neck.

“Oh!” Her husky voice rose an octave. “Sheriff...do something!”

“Now, Morgan, you don’t want to hurt that lady.” Stiles stepped forward, his hands trembling in front of him. One inched lower, toward his gun.

“You know better than that, Sheriff. Get your hands in the air, or I’ll slit her throat.” Bobby pressed the blade into that creamy neck, taking care not to scratch her skin. “You’re right. I don’t want to hurt her. But neither do I want to hang for a crime I didn’t commit. Now you’re going to get in that cell with the rest of those derelicts, and the lady and I are going to walk on out of here.”

“I shoulda hog tied you, Morgan,” Stiles said.

“But you didn’t. Lesson learned for another time. Naomi, angel, we’re going to walk toward the sheriff real slow like, and you’re going to take his gun, you hear?”