Catch Me by Lorelie Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

going to be one damned long ride,” he muttered.
    “It doesn’t have to be.” She turned toward him on the log. Her knees brushed his thigh. Though there were at least two layers of skirts and petticoats between them, not to mention his own wool trousers, Dean’s skin pulled tight. Since their fights didn’t hardly count, a gently bred woman had not touched him in years. His dick couldn’t help but fly to visions of the two of them intimately entwined. But his mind knew better.
    She wound her fingers together in supplication. “We’re only a couple hours out. Let me go back and be with my father.” Her slender throat worked as she choked on what she tried to say next. “Please,” she finally spat.
    He stood and popped the cap back in the canteen. “No.”
    She turned forward and hooked her wrists over her knees. “Haven’t you ever lost someone important to you? Can’t you even try to understand?”
    He went back to his horse and tucked the canteen into the saddlebag. This whole situation was fucked. Nothing had called his wife to mind as frequently as the past two days. He’d worked damned hard not to have to think of her. Doing whatever the hell he had to. Staying drunk for days. Picking fights with the biggest, baddest men around. All because thinking about Annie meant thinking about her death. And if he thought about her death too often, he’d go stark-raving mad.
    “You don’t have a monopoly on loss, Maggie Bullock.” He checked his horse’s girth strap to ensure it was still tight. “And the rest of us don’t run around robbing banks any time we’re crossed.”
    Her chin rose and she skewered him with a narrow-eyed look. “I did what I had to do. I wouldn’t take it back.”
    On some level, Dean understood. But even tracking Curt Whitson and shooting him down in the middle of a dusty street hadn’t brought Annie and Jack back. With three shots, he’d blown a fist-sized hole in his head. And loved every second. Watching Whitson’s blood pool in the dirt had been the closest thing to pleasure he’d experienced since his world crumbled. He’d have resurrected Whitson like Lazarus, just for the pleasure of killing him again. Instead, he’d found other men to kill.
    He shook free of the memories. Sometimes it seemed Annie had taken everything good of his soul with her.
    “It’s time to go.”
    Maggie stood abruptly and her body coiled as if she’d run. Dean was back at her side in three steps. He grabbed her arm. “Don’t even try it,” he growled.
    “I wasn’t,” she said. She pushed her hair back out of her face. “I wasn’t trying anything.”
    “Keep it that way.” He ought to put the gag back in. Though he’d chosen a backwater route that would keep them out of sight, there was always the chance of being noticed. Having Maggie forcefully quieted would certainly reduce it. But the cloth in her mouth would keep stealing her moisture and result in dehydration.
    He led her back to her horse and dumped her in her saddle.
    She kicked out at him, but it seemed a half-hearted effort, not meant to wound. This time. “Would you please stop tossing me around like so much chattel?”
    He paused in drawing out the hank of twine needed to tie her up. “Excuse me?”
    “I assure you I’m perfectly capable of getting on my own mount, even with my hands tied.”
    “Somehow, I’ve no doubt of that.” He bound her to the saddle horn again. “This is your regular horse, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.” Her bottom lip pouted, looking imminently bitable. “Sandie’s been mine since she was foaled.”
    “Sandie?” The damn horse was about as far from a sandy color as possible. Instead, its coat was a rich brown, almost as dark as its mistress’s hair.
    “Yes.” She hesitated, her thick lashes shielding her thoughts for a moment. “Whatever happens…please see her kept safe. Please?”
    He threatened to kill her and only got more fighting. But she’d beg for her horse’s safety. Dean