Outlaw by Lisa Plumley Read Free Book Online Page A

that the poet bandit had said?
    She tugged at his hand. Amazingly, he took
it away from her mouth.
    "Lawman?" Amelia croaked. "Did you say
lawman?" She turned to face him, her gaze taking in the poet
bandit's powerful physique, his unsmiling, rugged face, and the gun
strapped to his hip. "Are they after you right now?"
    Don't be daft, she told herself—of course
the law was after him. A person only had to look at him to know he
was dangerous. He'd abducted her, for heaven's sakes.
    His mouth turned up at the corners in an
expression somewhere between a smile and a sneer. "I'm a wanted
man," he said simply. "That's why we've got to keep moving."
    Amelia stepped backward. "Well, I—I knew
that," she warbled, fear and nervousness combining to loosen her
tongue. "I just thought they'd given up on catching you, that's
all, with you being so famous for your poetry and such. You have to
admit, that kind of thing does sell newspapers."
    This last was her brother Denton's
oft-expressed opinion, but Amelia felt justified in claiming it,
under the circumstances.
    The bandit gave her a funny look.
    "Haven't I mentioned it?" she asked. "I
thought for certain I had. Oh, well." Amelia drew a deep breath and
chattered on about how she'd recognized him back at the
stagecoach.
    "I've read all about you in the
periodicals," she added helpfully, thinking it couldn't possibly
hurt to butter him up a little. She'd never met a man who didn't
appreciate a kind word about his work. Amelia raised her hands as
though spanning the width of a newspaper headline. "The famous poet
bandit."
    He scowled. Amelia's hopes for kinder
treatment fled, replaced with a fresh shiver of fear. What could
have happened to turn him into a desperado like the poet bandit,
anyway?
    "I'm not who you think I am," he said,
giving her a dark, wholly incomprehensible smile.
    It had the disturbing effect of making her
insides feel like warm, melted jelly, something Amelia had never in
a million years expected to feel in the company of a desperado. To
be fair, she had to admit he was a fine-looking man—if a little
unschooled in the social graces. A lady bandit would
probably find him downright irresistible.
    He wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
"We're going back to camp," he announced. Then he proceeded to pull
her, stumbling with weariness and befuddlement and the effort of
juggling her satchels, along behind him.
    "You must be the poet bandit," she insisted,
feeling vaguely combative and too exhausted to care if she angered
him. What else could the outlaw do to her? He'd made it all too
clear that escaping him was nearly impossible. What was the harm in
finding out a little more about her captor?
    "I'm certain you're the poet
bandit."
    He trudged on, ignoring her.
    She cleared her throat and asked, a little
more loudly, "Who are you, then?"
    He stopped, causing Amelia to bump smack
into his black canvas duster coat. She stepped backward and tried
to raise her hand to rub her nose, but his strong, warm fingers
held her fast. The outlaw faced her, holding Amelia's wrist between
their bodies where the chill night air couldn't penetrate.
    His eyes met hers. "It's better if you don't
know," he said.
    His deep, rumbling voice wound its way
inside her, raising goose bumps along her arms. Why was he being so
mysterious? They trekked a little further, leaving Amelia to mull
it over. Of course he couldn't just come right out and admit to
being a famous outlaw; he hadn't evaded capture this long by
telling folks who he really was.
    Deciding it would be wise to play along with
him if that's what he wanted, Amelia addressed her next question to
his broad back. "What shall I call you, then?"
    She waited. Typically, he remained silent.
His shoulders were vague outlines in the scattered moonlight,
marching tirelessly ahead. She hoped he knew where they were going,
because she was well and truly lost now.
    "Mister Bandit?" she proposed. "The Black
Bandit? Outlaw—""Don't you ever shut