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

“Well, where will you be? I got to send the money somewhere.”

Bobby sighed. “Hell if I know. Tell you what. I need to head to Minnesota, take care of a few things. I’ll wire you when I’m settled in a hotel somewhere. Better yet”—he rubbed his stubbled jaw—”give the money to Naomi.”

“Excuse me?”

“For her troubles. She’s been through hell.” He wished he could give her more—everything—but this would have to do.

The sheriff nodded. “That’ll work. Sounds good.” Stiles shuffled some papers on his desk, then looked up. “Oh. Morning, Reverend.”

“Sheriff,” a deep voice said from behind Bobby.

Naomi’s father had no doubt come to demand his arrest. Not that Bobby blamed him. He’d probably do the same. But damned if he was going to let Stiles throw him back in that dirty cell.

“I need to speak to Mr. Morgan, if I may.”

“Of course, Reverend,” Stiles said, rising. “I got some things to take care of in the back. Take my chair.”

Bobby flinched as a large, solid man walked around the sheriff’s desk and sat. He was an older male version of his daughter. Hair the color of midnight, streaks of silver at the temples. A handsome face, with creases around the eyes and mouth. And violet eyes.

“I’m Charles Blackburn, Mr. Morgan. Naomi’s father.”

Bobby returned the man’s gaze. “I know who you are.”

“It seems I owe you my gratitude.”

Gratitude? Was he serious? “For kidnapping your daughter? I don’t think so, Reverend.”

“She told me everything.”

Everything? Bobby squirmed. She would have left out the lovemaking, he hoped. “You mean you don’t want me arrested?”

Blackburn cleared his throat. “I’d be lying if I said the though

t hadn’t crossed my mind. In fact, I’ve been plenty mad at you, though I was more worried about Naomi. But she wept in my arms this morning as she told me how you protected her from a rape. I’m forever indebted to you for that. And how you found help for her when she was injured. And you brought her home safely.”

“It’s the least I could do. If you’ll excuse me—”

Bobby rose to leave, but the preacher held out a hand to stop him.

“I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Morgan, but even I have my limits. Please sit. We need to talk.”

“I can’t think what about.”

“About my daughter. She’s hurting. She says she loves you and that you love her. Is she mistaken?”

I should lie, Bobby thought. For Naomi’s sake. But this was a man of the cloth. A holy man. A godly man, if such a thing existed. He’d never lied to Naomi. He’d never denied loving her. And he couldn’t lie now. He didn’t have it in him.

“Yes, sir. I love her. More than anything. More than I ever thought it was possible to love another person.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“I’m no good for her, Reverend. I’m a bounty hunter. She got hurt because I was doing my job.”

“She claims you were going to stop hunting men and settle down with her.”

“I had thought to, yes. But that was before she got shot.” He winced as he said the words. He couldn’t go through such torture again. Not and live to tell the tale.

“So because she was shot, you’ve decided to leave her.”