The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) by Barbara Ankrum Read Free Book Online Page B

have some bone to pick. And no one forced you to pull that trigger. And I... well, I certainly didn't mean to trip like that. It was entirely... accidental."
    "And I suppose it was accidental you happened t' be in that cantina alone where a woman like you had no bloody business bein'?"
    Grace backed against the wall two steps behind her, noting irrelevantly that both his brogue and his language got worse the angrier he got. She was suddenly quite glad those iron bars stood between them, because he looked as if he wanted to strangle her with his two bare hands. She touched her throat. She knew he was at least half right about her. Well, maybe even a little more than half, she admitted. But she couldn't let that dissuade her from her plan.
    "Mr. Donovan, I... I really am very sorry about everything. I certainly never meant for any of this to happen. I do hope you know that. But don't you agree this is hardly the time for recriminations?"
    He narrowed his eyes uncertainly.
    "Recriminations," she said more softly, meeting his gaze. "Blame. Some things"—she took a step closer—"just happen. They're meant to be. There's no logic, no reason. They just are. It's destiny, so to speak."
    Resse dropped his hands from the bars and watched her take another step nearer. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. "Destiny?"
    "Do you believe in it?"
    "No." And for reasons he couldn't fathom, he added, "But I suppose you do."
    She smiled at him. By God, she had a smile that could charm a flock of canaries out of the trees, he thought, steeling himself against it.
    "I believe," she said, "that all things have a purpose, Mr. Donovan. A purpose greater than our understanding. Perhaps it's better not to question those things. Now, we haven't much time. Do we have a deal or not?"
    He spun away from her, braced his hands on the wall above the bunk and cursed.
    Grace watched the tense arch of his shoulders, the play of muscle across his back through the torn fabric of his shirt as he let his head drop forward between his splayed arms. Something in his posture made her want to reach out and touch him, reassure him that it would be all right. But she sensed that touching a man like Reese Donovan would be like touching the cool liquid of nitroglycerin, just before it exploded in your hand.
    "Please. I need your help."
    Reese slumped down heavily on the wood slab and rubbed his aching head. "Let me get this straight. You get me out of here—assuming you can—and I go and make myself target practice for Maximilian's thugs in Querétaro."
    "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
    "What exactly did you have in mind?"
    She shrugged, as if the answer were all too obvious. "Specifically? Freeing my brother and getting out alive."
    He let out a snort of laughter.
    "Mr. Donovan, if you think I haven't thought about the consequences of possible failure, you're wrong. I have. And weighing it against what we have to gain, we have decided that it's worth the risk. It's clear," she went on, "that your choices are rather onesided. Staying here means certain death for you."
    "And in Querétaro, I'll have a running start, is that what you mean?"
    She stared at him, silent.
    He sent her a sideways look. "You ever been to Querétaro, princess?"
    "No, of course I've never been."
    "Well, I have. It would make even this place look good to a lady like yerself. And right now, from what I've heard, it's crawling with Maximilian's troops who've holed up there and think nothing of executing innocent men suspected of consorting with Juarez or his supporters."
    "Like my brother."
    He nodded. "Like your brother."
    She glanced around the cell. "It can't be much worse than this, can it?"
    He narrowed his eyes, following her gaze. "You might be surprised. Besides, there isn't a prayer of me breaching Maximilian's defenses."
    She glanced innocently at the thick adobe walls of his cell. "I suppose Marshal Sanders has much the same opinion about his little fortress. But I plan to prove him